


Regent's Fall

by cobain_cleopatra



Series: Little Crow [8]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Dishonored AU, Fluff, Grumpy Daud, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medium Chaos (Dishonored), Smut, Snarky Corvo, whaler Corvo, younger Corvo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-11-30 22:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11472942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobain_cleopatra/pseuds/cobain_cleopatra
Summary: Corvo wasn’t a tamed hound, waiting to bite and bark whenever the Loyalists bade him to. If the Admiral wanted him to weaken the Lord Regent and his allies, he would do so on his own terms, by his own choice.





	1. The Boyle Party

"Now, now. There's no need for that. I had hoped to see you again, Corvo. Though this is the last place I would have expected."

Corvo hadn’t expected to be recognised here. He hadn’t accounted for Roland, but he should have. Everyone had heard of the nobleman’s good work in the Legal District, following the Barrister’s arrest. Wiles Roland was a name on a lot of people’s lips. Of course he’d been invited to the Boyles’.

The nobleman’s attempt at reassuring him did little to settle Corvo’s unease. One shout of _assassin_ , and he’d be leaving the manor in the Overseer’s custody.

“Must things be so hostile between us?” The thwarted expression on Roland’s face may have been genuine. Corvo didn’t uncurl his fingers yet, where they rested around the grip of his blade. “I thought we were friends.”

Corvo hadn’t forgotten their brief alliance during the Timsh job, despite everything else that had happened that day. If Roland still considered them allies, Corvo’s cover, Daud and Thomas’ cover, might be in safe hands.

Still, Roland wasn’t one of them, and Corvo was loathe to put his faith in an aristocrat on principle.

“I’ve no wish to call the guards, I assure you.”

“You guarantee that?”

“On my very life.” Roland gestured towards the nearest set of doors. “If it will help to convince you, we can continue this out in the gardens. Less eyewitnesses to see you bludgeon me to death if I go back on my word?”

A tempting offer. Corvo wanted nothing more than to leave the crowds behind for a while. He felt like a sheep amongst the nobles, wearing wolfs skin to blend in. The lure of being away from prying eyes coaxed him to trail Roland to the doors. On his way out, Corvo caught Daud’s eye across the dining hall. The man had been watching them avidly, he knew that something was wrong. And Corvo knew the slightest signal would be all it took for Daud to tear the manor apart to keep him from harm.

But Corvo simply made a motion behind his back, to signal Daud and Thomas with him outside.

Walking into the fresh evening air, Corvo released a heavy breath, one he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. It was a much needed respite, to be out in the open after spending so long inside; the grounds were welcomely devoid of people.

Roland led him to one of the patio tables. “There.” He motioned to the dimly lit and deserted space. “You see? Safe and sound.”

Corvo flinched when a firework burst above the mansion.

“Bloody things. I was too afraid to ask old Ichabod how much they cost. A fortune, I’d wager.” Roland placed his champagne flute down on the table, and held his hands slightly up in emphasis. “You know, you still have my thanks for what you did for me in the Legal District. I doubt I’d be here, revelling with the high society, without your help.”

Corvo couldn’t picture anyone wanting to be here by choice.

“So I mean you no ill will. And I certainly didn’t intend to almost ‘blow your cover’, as they say. I was just rather surprised to see you again. And here, of all places.”

His words were genuine; Corvo could tell easily, now that the adrenaline, the pounding in his ears from being recognised, had quietened. “I believe you.”

Roland beamed. “Marvellous.”

“It’s not me you need to convince.”

The nobleman’s smile faded as quickly as it appeared when he saw two figures emerge from the manor. For a brief second, merry chatter and the clink of glasses drifted to Corvo’s ears from the dining hall, before the doors swayed shut again.

“Ah.” Roland shrank down to hide behind his shoulder. “You aren’t here alone, I see.”

Corvo stepped forward to keep Daud away, as the man approached like some kind of stalking wolfhound. He’d already drawn his sword.

“It’s Roland.” Corvo kept a firm grip on his sword arm; Daud’s muscles were tight with apprehension beneath his fingers. “From the Legal District.”

“He recognised you? Is the job compromised?”

Corvo shook his head Thomas’ way. “He’s not a threat.”

Daud pulled his arm from Corvo in one swift move, and he turned his hard gaze on the nobleman. “I’ll hear that from him.”

Corvo felt Roland shrink down further behind him. Some of the fondness he'd felt in the Legal District resurfaced, as Roland stammered out some pledge of trustworthiness. Something about it being lovely to see them all again. And he may have been a noble, but Corvo had no desire to see his blood staining the Boyles’ neatly trimmed lawn.

“It was his idea to talk out here, he could’ve called the guards. He’s not a threat.”

Corvo’s instincts told him to take the chance. Daud had trusted his judgement before, countless times, and Thomas would follow Daud’s lead unerringly.

Daud scrutinised the nobleman, who had all but disappeared behind Corvo’s shoulder now. “One move I don’t like, we deal with him however I see fit.”

Corvo nodded, and Daud sheathed the sword back under his coat.

While Roland sheepishly stepped back into view, Thomas shot a glimpse at the manor. “We shouldn’t stay away from the party for much longer. Our hosts may become suspicious.”

“Your hosts?” Roland’s eyes widened, “By the Void, you’re not here for one of Ichabod’s daughters, are you?”

“Lady Boyle,” Thomas said. “Burrows’ mistress.”

“You’re here for Waverly?”

Corvo gave a short nod. He had learned her name upstairs, where in the woman’s chambers there had been solid evidence that linked her to the Regent. A perfume bottle Corvo knew held the sigil from Dunwall Tower. A dress, far too fine to have been made by even the Estate District’s tailors. A note, with no signature, but Corvo recognised Burrows’ handwriting.

“Stars, we all knew this would get her in trouble sooner or later.”

Daud's eyes narrowed. “We all?”

A chuckle burst free from Roland’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he said, waving a hand in apology, “Im sorry, it’s just, I forget not everyone attends court. I doubt there’s a soul in Parliament that doesn’t know about Waverly and the Regent’s little association. The Void would sooner freeze over before dear Brisby let anyone forget about it.”

“Pendleton attends court,” Corvo said, frowning. He and Daud shared a glance, “Why wouldn’t he have given us her name?”

“Trevor knows about it, certainly,” Roland interrupted, before Daud could give an answer. “I saw him just last week, though he’s been terribly distant with everyone lately, apart from Brisby. Everyone thought it was the death of his brothers that had him so removed, but...” The nobleman peered around at them all. “I imagine, if he and you are acquainted, that’s not the whole story.”

Corvo and Thomas gave no reply. Roland began to wither slightly under Daud’s cold stare.

“I won’t pry,” the nobleman attested, eventually. “Just, speaking of Brisby, it rather reminds me. He was looking for someone earlier. Said he’d be in a skull mask.” The nobleman grimaced at the said mask, atop Corvo’s head. “Really, Corvo, that thing is rather disturbing. But he asked me to point you in his direction, should I see you. And he happened to mention something about Pendleton, as well. Surely that’s no coincidence?”

Corvo was starting to forsake believing in coincidences. He looked to Daud. “What do you think?”

“Whatever game Pendleton’s playing with us, I want it finished with,” Daud said brusquely. “I won’t abide another mystery. We’ll see what Brisby wants. He could have further information.”

“I can point him out to you,” Roland offered Corvo. He cleared his throat nervously when Daud's expression darkened. “You’ll all be quite safe with me. I’ve no desire to see you leave here in chains.”

Daud grunted a reply under his breath, and began to head back to the mansion. Thomas went in tow.

“Charming man,” Roland winced at Daud’s retreating back. “Did I ever say so the first time?”

“You did.”

“Ah. I thought so. Back inside, then?”

Corvo joined Roland’s side, as they tailed Daud and Thomas to the dining hall.

“You know, Corvo, in case of future reference, all you needed to do was give Miss White a glass of sparkling wine, and the nobility’s secrets would have quite literally fallen at your feet. You’d have had Waverly’s name in no time.”

Corvo chewed on the inside of his mouth, trying to quash his embarrassment. They had hunted for the identity of Burrows’ mistress for the better part of an hour. Had he known it was as easy as merely gossiping with a few guests, he would have likely been returning to the Hound Pits by now.

“I take it this is your first social gathering?” Corvo nodded, and Roland chuckled. “Well, you’re an assassin, not a courtier, so I believe you’re forgiven. At my first party, I spilled a finger of brandy all over Lord Shaw’s trousers. You’re already doing much better than I was.” He gave Corvo’s attire a peek over. “Might I ask, how exactly did you get past the gate guard?”

“Gave him Bunting’s invitation.”

“Theodore Bunting? Well, I’ll say he’s certainly not having the best year. First his business is taken, and now his identity.” Corvo noted that the nobleman didn’t sound too sympathetic. “I’m surprised he received an invitation at all. And those two...?” Roland gestured a finger between Daud and Thomas, before the pair disappeared inside.

“Crawford and Estermont.”

“You know, I did think Estermont looked a head or so shorter before. Though the resemblance is almost uncanny.”

They stopped outside the doors.

“Now, according to our dear Miss White, Waverly's in black tonight. Adelle's not usually wrong about these things, she's a proficient gossip. And I must warn you, Corvo, Brisby’s somewhat fragile at the moment. If you want to keep your head down, and something tells me you do,” he added, watching as Corvo tugged the mask back over his face. “Try to avoid making a scene. Agree with what the old boy says, keep him calm. His last meltdown in court was a scandal, people are still talking about it now.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

“And thank you for not running me through with your sword. It would have ruined what’s turned out to be a rather interesting evening.” Roland moved to open the door, but hesitated, with his hand poised over the handle. “I truly didn’t mean to startle you when I said hello. I just got a little caught up in seeing you again. Everything’s been a bit dull in comparison, since meeting you and your...” He struggled to find an apt word. “Your assassin companions.”

Corvo wasn’t sure how to respond, so he merely nodded once more. He felt heat spread up his neck when Roland chuckled at him again.

“Still haven’t gotten the hang of of this conversational business, have you. Good. I rather liked that about you the first time.”

Roland reached out, straightening Corvo’s collar. Corvo let him, stiffly.

“And I must confess, I’m quite fond of being the one assisting _you_ this time around. Perhaps one day I may actually feel as though I’ve repaid you for all your help in the Legal quarter.”

“You paid us.”

“An empty gesture, I’m afraid. Coin is hardly fitting compensation for saving my District’s future. I don’t want to imagine what it would be like today, if Timsh were still the Barrister. Offering my assistance and discretion tonight is by far the least I can do in repayment.”

Roland pulled the door ajar, sweeping an arm inside.

“After you, Bunting.”

*

With Thomas subtly keeping watch at the doorway, Corvo stepped into the smoking room. Being several hours into the party, the air inside was now thick with cigarette smoke. There was only one Watch guard present, and he seemed engaged in conversation with two of the guests.

Corvo made Brisby out, pacing around in a far corner of the room. He held his rat mask between his hands, and was fidgeting restlessly with its whiskers.

“Lord Brisby.”

The nobleman startled when he heard his name. “Y-yes, young man? Can I help you?” He peered at Corvo through the layer of smoke hanging around them. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, have we?”

They had, a few times, when Corvo was hidden behind his whaling mask. Last they’d spoken, Corvo had been searching for word of Delilah. Brisby had talked about Waverly Boyle, and little else.

But Corvo shook his head. Better to be cautious, and hope Brisby didn’t recognise his voice.

“Someone said you were waiting for me.”

Brisby froze, the colour washing from his face and leaving his cheeks sickly pale. “Are you the man Trevor sent? Oh, thank the Stars I found you before–” He cut himself off when some guests bustled behind Corvo’s back. Brisby ushered him desperately, “We’ll talk elsewhere, in private. Follow me.”

Corvo did, guardedly, until they were stood before the room’s fireplace. It was away from the throngs of nobles. Brisby clearly didn’t want to be overheard.

“Please,” the nobleman began, “Don’t be frightened, I mean you no harm. I’m a good friend of Pendleton’s.”

“He hasn’t mentioned you.”

“No. No, I suppose he wouldn’t have.” Brisby wrung his hands together. His skittish movements matched those of his mask’s idol. “Trevor wouldn’t have wanted the Admiral knowing about this, I'm sure.”

The man knew that Pendleton and Havelock had allied? Their nobleman must have been slack-tongued in keeping their conspiracy a secret.

Corvo decided it best to get to the point. “What’s this about?”

“The Admiral wants her killed. Waverly,” Brisby clarified. “All because of the damned Regent! Oh Stars, Trevor told me she’d die tonight, when the Admiral sent you. But he swore, Trevor swore to me, if I supported him in Parliament, and voted against his rivals in court, that Waverly would live. That _you_ wouldn’t let her die.”

Corvo felt his expression become icy. “We have no such deal. Pendleton didn’t–”

“He didn’t tell you, no. I know,” Brisby interrupted. “Trevor didn’t want to risk the Admiral finding out about our deal. From what he’s told me, they have their own deal standing; not to bring anyone from outside into your conspiracy against the Regent. But I’ve helped! I don’t hold a shred of love for Hiram Burrows, and Trevor and I have gotten so far in Parliament, done good things for your cause!”

Brisby peered around, almost frantically, making sure they were still alone near the hearth. “Trevor told me you’d be coming tonight, on the Admiral’s orders. To kill my dear, sweet Waverly.”

He stepped forward to take Corvo’s shoulders, perhaps in reassurance, or perhaps to stop him from fleeing. He thought better of it when Corvo backed away, reticent. From the corner of his eye, Corvo saw Thomas’ hand slowly ease away from his wristbow.

“Trevor told me to speak to you, young man. To let you know about our agreement. I can offer you an alternative, one that gives us both what we want.”

Damn Pendleton to the Void. Despite the Admiral’s questionable principles – demanding their targets to be killed no matter the cost, to avoid loose ends – Havelock had the right of it; bringing people they couldn’t fully trust into a conspiracy as high-reaching as theirs was incredibly stupid. And incredibly dangerous. Brisby now knew the nature of the Loyalists, and the identity of those involved, thanks to Pendleton. And in his current position, Brisby would only remain so loyal to their nobleman.

If Brisby's wishes were defied, if he didn’t get whatever Pendleton had promised him – what he’d promised _Corvo_ would do – he had knowledge, leverage, that could expose every one of Corvo’s allies. Martin. Samuel. Emily.

Involving someone like Brisby, just to further his own ambitions in court... Corvo could have cut Pendleton’s throat. Perhaps he would, once the night was finished.

“Talk, then. What do you want with Waverly Boyle?”

“I love her. It’s not her fault, this whole mess with the Regent. She had no choice, I know she didn’t.” It sounded to Corvo as though the man were making excuses for his own piece of mind. “She doesn’t deserve to die for it! I have a boat, waiting in the cellar. Bring her down there to me. Your conspiracy needs her gone and I... I can do that, I can take her away. She won’t be harmed, I swear. We’ll go far away from Dunwall. You’ll never hear of her again.”

Corvo felt sick. “You want to abduct her.”

“No! No, not abduct, not at all! I’m saving her, don’t you see? This is merciful, this way she doesn’t have to die.”

Corvo wanted to spit out how soiled the man’s views of saving and mercy were.

But he was reminded again, looking down at Brisby’s distorted rat mask, that Pendleton’s self-interest had afforded Corvo little choice but to obey Brisby’s request if he wanted to keep his allies safe.

 _Void_ , Corvo thought, as he agreed to the nobleman’s terms. _It would be more a mercy to kill her_.

*

“You’re not doing this,” had been Daud’s first words to him in the Boyles’ library. Grated out from behind clenched teeth, after Corvo had relayed Pendleton’s idiocy and Lord Brisby’s deal with him.

Daud had taken him aside, hearing the indecision, and probably disgust, in his voice. In their secluded corner of the room, with only Thomas and Roland close to hand, Daud stood nearer than he had all evening, and took Corvo’s shoulder.

“I’ll go instead,” he had insisted, his tone growing patently softer. “I won’t have you making a choice like this, not on behalf of that fool Pendleton.”

It had reminded Corvo why he loved the man so. Daud never forced anything on his men that he wouldn’t first do himself. He afforded such responsibilities onto himself before all others, no matter the remorse that might follow. Both the raw compassion of Daud’s offer to take his place, and the Void-awful situation Pendleton had placed him in, had made Corvo’s throat close in on itself for a moment.

He had still shaken his head. “No. I’ll go.”

“Corvo–”

“Allying with the conspiracy was my decision. I’ll go.”

Daud had bitten out a curse, something about his stubbornness. But the hand on Corvo’s shoulder had tightened, in what was as much a gesture of comfort as Daud could give there, before he stepped away.

“Do what you must, then. I know there’s no talking you from it.” Daud had then summoned Thomas and Roland over to them. “Thomas and I will keep an eye on your nobleman until we’re finished here.”

Daud was unwilling to let Roland leave his sights. Corvo would have argued his enmity unnecessary – Roland knew less about their motive here than Brisby, after all – but if it helped soothe Daud’s paranoia to keep the nobleman under guard, Corvo wasn’t going to stop him. And Roland himself didn’t seem too bothered.

“It’s fine, really,” the aristocrat had sighed, waving his champagne glass dismissively. “I suppose you’re all far more interesting company that most of the guests here, anyway.”

Daud’s order to Corvo, before he left in search of Lady Boyle, had been uttered out of earshot of their companions. He told him to be careful. _Come back here to me, and then we’re leaving_. Corvo wanted nothing more.

He repeated Daud’s words in his head, as a form of consolation, while he waited for an opening. His chest felt tight, his nerves hanging by a thread and unsteady. He hadn’t felt like this on a job since the Empress. It felt every bit as wrong.

The time came when he saw Waverly Boyle slip into the gardens, alone. Corvo followed after a few minutes had passed.

The fireworks above the mansion had finally ceased, making the silence outside a quiet, eerie disparity from the bustle and flurry of the party. Waverly stood further on, a silhouette against the fence that surrounded the manor. She was looking out over the streets below, with a cigarette held between her gloved fingers. Her posture, the slight strain in her pose...

It looked as though she were waiting for someone. Waiting for him. Corvo kept his steps light, but easy to hear, as he approached.

Waverly turned her head to him when he came into her view. “Not fond of crowds, either?” Her mask was pushed up, just to uncover her mouth. “It does all become a terrible bore after too long, doesn’t it.”

Corvo didn’t answer.

“That mask of yours is quite something. It seems we’ve been drinking with Death himself tonight.” Waverly’s lips were pulled into a tight smile. “You’re not here to try and guess my name too, are you. It’s all anyone seems to be interested in tonight. Not that my sisters mind the attention.” The hollow eyes of her mask gave Corvo a long, expectant stare. “Well?”

“It’s Waverly.”

She gave a bitter chuckle, resting one arm atop the other to bring the cigarette back to her lips. “Well done. Though you’ll have to name all three of us for the cameo. Esma’s childish idea of entertainment.”

“I’m not here for the cameo.”

“I know.” Waverly blew smoke between the grates in the fence. “I know all the guests at my party, except you. Do not take me for a fool. I know why you’re here.”

Corvo couldn’t find a response besides silence. He knew it was rash to even be speaking with her, especially if she’d suspected why he had come.

Brisby had asked for her to be delivered unconscious. He had claimed it would be easier for her, safer for them, and now would be the perfect time. They were alone. It was dark. If Corvo stopped time briefly, he could carry her to the cellar in under a minute without being caught.

But he couldn’t do it.

Waverly took another long drag from her cigarette, and sighed. “It was only a matter of time, I suppose. Before you followed the trail of breadcrumbs and came for me." She flicked the cigarette into one of the rosebushes. “First Campbell, Morgan and Custis, Sokolov. And now me. Hiram thinks your some kind of omen, Void-bent on destroying him.”

She fluttered a hand behind her, gesturing to the mansion, “He had thought those Overseers and their boxes might keep me safe, spent hundreds of coin to hire them and the Watch for the party tonight. But he was too much of a coward to come and protect me himself. What a pathetic weasel of a man he is.”

Waverly took the edge of her mask and pulled it off. Pale hair and skin. She was beautiful, though her eyes were dull. Like she had long since given up. Resigned herself to whatever fate Burrows had drawn her into.

“Look down there.”

Waverly pointed out to the Estate District, to the illuminated avenues beneath the manor. There were dark shapes vaguely visible under the streetlights. Weeper corpses. They were scattered about the streets, some floating in the river. Tallboys were still patrolling the District, the mechanical clunk of their legs echoing up to Corvo’s ears.

“This is what has become of the city, under the Regent,” Waverly said quietly. “That man is good for nothing other than spreading death and misery. I agreed to join him out of selfishness. I was afraid, I won’t deny it. Why should I? These days there’s little else you can do but watch your own back, feed your own interests, and he promised to keep me safe if I supported him. Well clothed, well fed. And he kept his promise. But this...”

Waverly watched, as in the distance, a Tallboy crushed a weeper under its feet. “This is unforgivable. This is what my cowardice has helped to accomplish. I want no more part in it.”

She dropped her mask onto the grass with a soft thud, and turned to Corvo fully.

“What happens now, then? You kill me? I try to run, shout for help? You’ll get no such satisfaction from me, I’m afraid. I’ve known this was coming for a long time.”

Corvo found he couldn’t lie to her. “Brisby asked me to bring you to the cellar. He has a boat waiting.”

“Lord Brisby is involved in this?” Waverly scoffed out a laugh. “My, I never thought he had it in him, hiring someone to abduct me. I’m almost proud of his nerve.”

“He didn’t want you awake when I brought you.”

“And yet, here I am. Still awake and talking to you.”

Corvo gave a rigid nod. Waverly’s lips curved upwards, only slightly.

“You’ve done me a mercy in that regard, at least. Thank you.” Corvo could see her hands trembling, though her voice was level enough. “But I’m afraid I won’t be going anywhere with him, awake or not.”

She reached into her breast pocket, and pulled something from it, small and gold-edged. The Boyle cameo.

“Five hundred coin. Whatever Brisby is paying you, whatever insurance he has against you tat had convinced you to do this, I’m giving you this to look past it. Put a bullet between his eyes, if you must. There are no guards in the cellar, I can assure you of that. You won’t be caught if you’re quick about it.”

She snatched Corvo’s hand and placed the cameo in his palm. “Take it, and do away with us both. I’ve not wish to die, but I’d rather that than be used by another obsessed, self-serving coward. My late husband, the Regent, Brisby. I’ve had enough.”

Waverly’s eyes skimmed over his mask, searching him. Pleading with him.

“You clearly have a heart, not to have done what Brisby asked of you. You came here to speak with me instead. Do me this mercy, as well. Please.”

The cameo felt cold in Corvo’s hand. Five hundred coin, to end two lives instead of ruining one. To kill them both, instead of selling her to Brisby to live in captivity for the rest of her days. The first and only person Corvo had sold into captivity had been Emily. He wouldn’t do it again.

He drew his sword, another of Piero’s gifts, and Waverly took a deep, reconciled breath at the sight of it. She stayed deathly still as he approached.

Corvo had always found another way when he needed to. Rothwild and the crates, Timsh and Roland, High Overseer Campbell. Those kinds of choices had always been made on his own terms. But Brisby’s plans for Waverly, even the Admiral’s plans for Waverly...

Neither choice was on Corvo’s own terms. There and then, he decided to make another.

Corvo flipped the weapon closed, and held it out.

“Watch carefully.” He flipped it again until it fully extended, then closed it once more. “That’s how you open it. It’s easy to conceal, hide it in your boot or sleeve, out of sight.”

Waverly frowned between him and the sword. “I don’t–”

“You’re going to go to Brisby of your own free will. You’re going to tell him you’ve chosen to run away with him, it will give him a false sense of security.” Corvo took her arm, and pushed the weapon into her hand. “Lie. Can you do that?”

Waverly blinked, before reality suddenly set in. She nodded, tears forming in her eyes.

“Use Brisby to leave the city. If he’s planned this, I expect he has other transport waiting at the docks. When the time is right, you’ll have this,” Corvo tapped the sword. “Stay with him, or kill him and make your own way, it doesn’t matter to me. I want you out of Dunwall, away from Burrows.”

Corvo tugged his mask up, and met her gaze sharply. “Don’t return. I’ll know if you do, and I won’t let you go again.”

“You’ll never see me again, you have my word. Thank you.” Her fingers shook with relief, as she slid the sword under her sleeve and bent to pick her mask up from the grass. “Thank you.”

“Go.”

Waverly covered her face once again as she hurried towards the mansion. She lingered when she reached the doors, and looked back over her shoulder. “Promise me that you’ll kill him. Hiram. Void knows, the world will not be sorry to see him cold in the ground.”

“I’ve already made that promise to someone else.”

Waverly thanked him a final time, and went inside.

Corvo stayed out in the gardens, watching over Wrenhaven until he saw Lord Brisby’s boat disappear upriver, carrying two passengers.

*

“Evening, sirs. The Boyles hope you had a wonderful time tonight.” The guard at the entrance bid them goodnight, when they departed to escort Roland to his carriage.

The party hadn’t finished yet, but Daud thought it better for the nobleman to leave with them. He didn’t want to hazard any unsolicited talk happening behind their backs once they were gone, not with Roland knowing who they were.

“I should have nabbed some Kingstreet Brandy on my way out,” Roland said glumly. “That brand’s a rarity nowadays, what with the plague and everything.”

Corvo was only distantly listening. His thoughts were elsewhere.

He should probably have cared about the Admiral’s reaction to his decision; allowing Waverly Boyle to remain alive, despite his firm orders to have her killed. Pendleton would probably have something to say about Brisby’s fate, too. It wasn’t likely that Waverly would keep the nobleman alive, now that she had Corvo’s sword at her disposal. But Corvo found he cared even less about that prospect.

All he could feel for now was tiredness, and relief. He couldn’t have lived with himself, if he’d handed Waverly over to Brisby, out cold and unarmed. He had made his decision, and he could live with whatever fallout was bound to follow it.

They walked through the tunnel leading to the road, the way lit by rows of golden lanterns, and the doors at the end were opened for them. Though hidden beneath his mask, Corvo still felt a prickle of unease creep up his spine, being so close to the Watch.

They emerged at the carriages, and once they were out of the guards’ view, Corvo pulled off his mask as Roland turned to them.

“Is this goodbye, then? I must say, it didn’t take long at all, did it. You’re all as efficient as I remember you being–”

“Make it quick,” Daud said sharply, prowling along the lane to wait near one of the abandoned shops. Thomas bowed his head to Roland in farewell, and followed.

“I don’t think they like me all that much,” Roland said with a slight cringe. “Though that’s entirely understandable. We’re practically from different worlds, you and I.”

“It isn’t personal. They don’t trust you.” Whether they liked him had naught to do with it, Corvo knew. Assassins were wary by nature.

“But you do, I hope.”

“I can make out a liar. You’re not one.”

“Only in court, on occasion. And even then, I’m not very good at it.” Roland rubbed his own arms against the cold, and his breath started steaming in the air. “I suppose I should let you get on. It really has been something, seeing you again, Corvo. I sincerely hope it isn’t for the last time.”

Corvo shook the nobleman’s hand when he offered it. Quite a bit different than their previous goodbye, Corvo thought to himself. He was thankful for that. Roland was endearing, probably the only nobleman he could ever imagine himself becoming fond of. But with Daud stood a few mere feet away, all Corvo wanted was him, and him alone, by his side.

In the back of his mind, if he was truthful with himself, it was all he’d wanted all evening.

“Should you need to find me, for whatever reason, you remember where I live.” Roland slid into the carriage. As it began to trundle away towards the barricade, he looked back at Corvo through the window. “Take care, Corvo.”

Corvo’s gaze strayed after him, until the coach had passed safely into the neighbouring section of the city. Once it had gone, he returned to Daud and Thomas.

“You don’t think he’ll tell anyone?” Thomas asked.

Corvo shook his head. “He won’t. I’m certain.”

“You always are,” Daud groused. But Corvo felt two of the man’s fingers curl around his wrist, Daud’s thumb grazing over the back of his hand. Corvo must have looked more exhausted than he felt, to elicit such a gesture in front of Thomas.

“We’ll need to be getting back to the Admiral,” Thomas said. He glanced over Corvo, and must have noticed the fatigue in his stance, as well. “Are you going to be alright? You look a little shaken.”

“I’m fine.”

“Corvo, the Hound Pits is across the city. Take an elixir.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“We’ll be on our feet for the next hour, at least. Don’t be stubborn.”

“Thomas,” Corvo tried to brush him off with a glare. “I said I’m fine–”

“Ox-shit you’re fine.”

Corvo blinked. Thomas cursing was a rare thing, indeed. Even Daud looked slightly bemused when he heard it.

Thomas pulled the elixir from his coat and pushed it into Corvo’s chest. “Drink it, and _don’t_ argue. I’m sick to the Stars of your pigheadedness, and I’ve been watching it go on in silence for nigh on ten years. Forget about everything else in the city, the thing that’s going to get you killed, Corvo Attano, is your Void-damned self. _Drink,”_ he repeated, sharply, and Corvo didn’t risk disobeying him.

Cursing once was bad enough news, but twice. Thomas must have been more on edge throughout the party than he’d let on.

“Now, we’ve all had a shit night, and I will not top it off by having you collapse halfway to the Old Port District.” Thomas watched until every drop of the red liquid was gone, and then he snatched the empty vial back, storing it away. “There, was that so difficult? Now let’s be on our way.”

He took a step, before glancing at Daud, as though suddenly remembering his place. “If you’re amenable to that, Sir.”

Daud’s expression was stone, but Corvo saw the glint of amusement in his eyes, despite the strain the Boyle party had clearly left on them all. “Take point. We’ll follow you.”

The Whaler did as he was ordered. Corvo stayed by Daud’s side, warily following Thomas as he led their way.

“It’s a pleasant change in pace.” Daud kept his voice hushed, so only Corvo could hear. “To hear someone else scolding you for your stubbornness, for once.”

“He sounded like you.”

“He’ll make a fine leader, yet.”

It was the first smile Corvo had cracked all evening.

And it would likely be the last for a while, he thought dryly, as they began their long trek to the pub, where the Admiral awaited their news. Corvo highly doubted he’d like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a LONG one, congratulations if you got this far. I always thought Brisby was a bit of a creeper, I hope people enjoyed the little alternative Corvo devised.
> 
> The next chapter's gonna be smutty, but I doubt any of you heretics mind.
> 
> Thanks for reading, very excited to get this next part underway.


	2. The Necessary Risk

“Is Corvo alright?” Emily had scrunched up her nose as she asked, as though she wasn’t sure whether she should be asking at all. “He always wakes up a lot earlier than me.”

“He’s fine.” He wasn’t. The previous night, all that had happened with Brisby and Lady Boyle, had taken its toll. But Daud didn’t have the heart to tell Emily as much. She already worried enough when Corvo left the Hound Pits, to go out into the city. “We had a long night.”

Emily pouted down at her boots. “He promised to tell me about the party.”

“Let him rest,” Daud grunted, tightening the wristbow on her arm. He asked her how it felt, partly to take her mind off the man still sleeping upstairs.

“It feels fine.” Emily wiggled her arm around and examined the contraption on her wrist with a curious gaze. “It’s bigger than I thought, how can it be hidden? And won’t it get caught on things?”

“Not if you’re careful about it.” It was promising, Daud thought, for the girl to be considering such things. If her mind kept on like that during their training sessions, she’d make a fine fighter someday. “Remember what I told you about loading it, wait until you hear the bolt click into its place. Go and find something to practice on. _Not_ Pendleton,” he added sternly.

The first time Daud had shown her how a wristbow worked, the girl had joked about using the nobleman’s drink flask for a target.

“Not that I’m wholly opposed to the idea,” Daud added under his breath as Emily scampered away.

The girl bobbed with excitement as she scoured around the pub’s yard for an agreeable target. Daud watched over her from the small wall beside Samuel’s makeshift quarters. Now that Emily was out of earshot, the boatman looked across at Daud from his chair.

“How is he?”

“Exhausted. Frustrated. The Admiral and that damned nobleman aren’t helping matters.”

Samuel glanced with sympathy to the pub’s attic. “I heard some of it last night, once the three of you returned. Don’t think ill of me, sir, it wasn’t my intention to eavesdrop or overhear.”

Daud grunted for him to continue.

“But Havelock and Pendleton didn’t sound too happy about whatever happened at the party. They sounded none too happy with each other, either, come to think of it.”

“Pendleton’s stupidity,” Daud growled, “put him in a difficult situation. Corvo,” he clarified, hazarding a glimpse to the attic himself. Nothing had stirred yet, and it was likely nothing would for the remainder of the afternoon. “The Admiral thinks he should have killed Lady Boyle and Brisby, to avoid loose ends. Pendleton thinks he should have given Brisby what he wanted, as per their agreement.”

“And Corvo did neither?”

“Corvo did the best he could with what he was given. Thomas and I told the Admiral as much, but the man’s set in his own opinions.”

Samuel shook his head solemnly. “I can’t imagine what was going through Pendleton’s mind at the time, involving one of his friends from Parliament like that. And without telling anybody about it. Seems dangerous to me.”

“And foolish. And Corvo’s playing for it.” Daud almost spat the last part out.

During their debrief with the Admiral, Corvo had stayed silent as his actions were reprimanded, deemed brash and perilous by Havelock. Once they had finished, the sun was beginning to rise, and Corvo had all but fainted from his exhaustion when they reached the attic. Daud had managed to get him to the bed, and the man hadn’t moved since, apart from to curl into Daud’s arms after he’d removed his boots and joined him.

Daud was brought from his thoughts, and tried to school his expression into something softer, when Emily caught his eye and pointed proudly to the wall of the old hound cages. A metal bolt stuck, wonky but on target, out from one of the building’s discoloured bricks.

“Keep your arm straight,” Daud chided, and he signalled her to continue, ignoring the way Emily’s tongue poked out at him.

“I’m certain Corvo did what he thought was right,” Samuel went on. “Doesn’t seem fair to me, the Admiral telling him what to do and how to do it, when he’s the one doing their dirty work for them.”

Daud hadn’t spoken with the boatman often, but he abruptly saw what Corvo meant about Samuel’s demeanour. He had a way about him, some air of astuteness, that made Daud suspect he’d be more suited to the role of advisor than some simple riverhand.

“Tell it to the Admiral. Perhaps then he’d be satisfied,” Daud said gruffly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Waverly Boyles’ no longer a concern. That should be good enough, without bringing Corvo’s decisions into question.”

They lapsed into an agreeable silence, the both of them watching as Aeolos appeared at the edge of the yard, and Emily ushered them over excitedly, showing them the devastation she’d caused the wall with her wristbow. The metal bolts made a heavy clunk each time one was shot into the bricks, and coming from inside the old cages, Daud could faintly hear Sokolov’s irritated grumbles at the racket.

Emily trotted over to them, with Aeolos in tow. The way the pair’s fingers were tightly entwined together didn’t escape Daud’s eye.

“Wyman found riverkrust pearls washed up on the beach!” The girl bounced up and down eagerly. “Can I go and see?”

Daud made his best effort to grant Aeolos an unimpressed expression. “I ordered you on patrol this afternoon. And now you’re finding riverkrust pearls.”

“The west District is quiet. Nothing to report.” The Whaler remained ever unruffled in the face of his sternness. “May I take Lady Emily to see the pearls, Sir?”

“Why are you only polite to me when you want something,” Daud groused, but he couldn’t find the strength in himself to be truly irate. Not when Emily was looking at him with so much hope in those alarmingly large, brown eyes. She’d be a force of nature in court, with eyes like that.

“Away with the both of you,” he grunted, allowing a few more moments to pass before he relented. “Void knows, perhaps I’ll have some peace with you gone.”

Emily grinned and went to drag Aeolos away, before she doubled back. “Oh,” she reached to unstrap the wristbow, “I forgot–”

“Keep it for now. Give me the illusion you’ll be practising at the beach, so I don’t feel soft letting you slack off your training.”

The girl’s grin grew infuriatingly cheeky, and she tugged Aeolos with her as she skipped towards the beach.

Samuel smiled after them. “She’s one feisty little girl. It’s nice she’s found a friend here. Can’t imagine having to go through something like this alone.”

Daud wondered which something he was speaking of. The conspiracy? Being so far from her home? Her mother’s murder? Possibly all of it, and more.

“She’s tough. Tougher than most of her kind.”

“Mmm, she is that. I doubt there’s anyone else of noble birth with more spirit for adventure.”

“Or a stronger sword arm.” Daud rubbed his own, where a new set of bruises lay. “At least the city will have an Empress who can protect herself, this time,” he said bitterly. “There won’t be men like me, daring to move against them.”

He felt the boatman’s eyes on him, and was surprised, when he risked a glance up, to find Samuel’s expression so mild. “Burrows put you in a difficult situation that day, Corvo told me so. You did the best with what you were given too, I believe, sir. If you don’t mind my saying. I think what matters now is that you’re trying to better yourself, and trying to do what’s best for Lady Emily. There isn’t anybody that can say you’re in the wrong for wanting to do that much.”

“Void,” Daud found himself scoffing. Not cruelly, the sound was more bemused than anything else. “Corvo warned me about speaking with you. Said you had a tendency to try and make him feel better. Didn’t expect you’d be trying such a thing with me.”

The boatman chuckled. “We all need to hear some sort of encouragement from time to time, sir. You’re only human, despite what Arden says about you,” he added, and Daud scoffed again. “And I wouldn’t dwell on what Pendleton and the Admiral had to say to Corvo. Tell him not to, either, if you would. He’s got enough on his mind as it is, and if I’m honest, sir, I’d say it’s a fine thing he chose not to get rid of Lady Boyle their way.”

Daud gave a nod. He was considering grunting out some sentimental nonsense in thanks, something about how grateful he was that Corvo had an honest man like Samuel watching out for him. But the door to the bar opened, and Daud caught a sour glimpse of Overseer robes.

Martin strode towards them, the sun catching on the silver edges of his coat in a way that made Daud grate his teeth together.

“Good afternoon, Daud.” Martin’s greeting was as smooth as polished steel, civil to anyone else’s ears. Daud wasn’t fooled. “Samuel. The Admiral’s in the meeting room upstairs, he asked me to bring you. There’s something he wants to discuss.”

Daud noticed the boatman’s confusion. Samuel had never been called to the meeting room; he got any information he needed via Martin or Corvo once the plans were finished.

Samuel stood uncertainly. “Are you sure about that, sir?”

“Quite sure.”

“What do you want with him?” Daud considered it an innocent enough question. But the way Martin’s snake-like eyes narrowed at him, someone would have thought it was anything but. “Don’t give me that look, Overseer. I want to know why he’s wanted.”

“Must you assassins always think I’m up to something unseemly?” Martin sounded far more amused than annoyed. “I thought we were on the same side. Corvo’s managed to look past my uniform well enough, why not you? Do you not trust his judgement?”

The mention of Corvo’s name had Daud on his feet before he realised he’d moved. Martin didn’t flinch away when Daud reared up, instead staying put on the spot. Arrogant. Infuriating.

“Struck a nerve, have I? I do apologise.”

“Do not test me.”

“Or you’ll... what, exactly?” Martin’s eyes challenged him to make a move. Do something he’d later regret. “I’m waiting.”

And Daud wanted nothing more than to break Martin’s nose again. Or perhaps cut his head from his shoulders. He’d thought about both courses of action often enough. But Daud hadn’t forgotten his promise to Corvo, to leave the Overseer be unless he found grounds to do violence against him. And as of yet, he had no grounds, no matter how much he might wish for some. He wouldn’t dishonour Corvo’s wishes over a petty argument.

With Samuel watching them uneasily, Daud’s fingers curled into tighter fists as he constrained his temper and his disdain, and stepped back.

Martin said nothing more to him, but the sight of his lips curving into a tight, complacent smile had Daud’s self-control hanging by a precarious thread.

“Samuel,” the Overseer bid, ushering the boatman with him. “Shall we. The Admiral’s waiting.”

Daud gave Samuel a slight nod in farewell as he passed, and his gaze steered after Martin’s Abbey-clad form until the pub door had closed behind them.

“Overseer bastard,” Daud cursed behind his teeth.

He heard a low whistle from above, and glowered when he saw Arden slouched on the rooftop.

“Got it rough there, Boss,” the Whaler remarked. “Cannae do nothing to the prick while we’re workin’ with him, though. Maybe once we’re done here…”

“Don’t tempt me,” Daud bit out. “The sooner we’re finished here, the better.”

“Aye, ain’t none of us arguing with you on that.”

Daud grumbled something, perhaps thanks for the Whaler’s shared opinion. There were days he was afraid that only he, and he alone, felt so ill at ease in the Overseer’s presence. But he was grateful that his men, barring Corvo, felt the same.

“Get back to your patrol.”

Arden disappeared, and after several long moments spent soothing his temper, Daud decided to forego standing in the courtyard, alone and muttering to himself like a madman. He didn’t want to risk any more of his men overseeing him and talking; there was enough hearsay over his and Martin’s adversary as it was.

He transversed to the rooftop, and then to the door of the attic room, not wanting to risk startling Corvo with approaching footsteps; Daud had never been so light-footed.

Daud edged into the room, and focused instantly on the lump of blanket on the bed. Void, Corvo must have been more exhausted than he had thought, not to even stir when Daud entered. The man was normally alert to every small noise.

Daud knelt beside the mattress, and reached carefully to brush back the hair hanging over Corvo’s eyes. Corvo shuffled slightly, glaring into the pillow. When his eyes cracked open, they were dark and hazy against the dim light. Daud pressed his lips to the confused furrow between his eyebrows.

“When’d you leave?”

“This morning.”

Corvo blinked at him hazily. “How long was I asleep?”

“Few hours.”

The man blinked a few more times, gaze focused somewhere left of Daud’s shoulder. “Does the Admiral need me for something?” Corvo moved to try and sit. Daud gently eased him back down onto the covers, only receiving a quiet mumble of protest.

“You’re not needed. I’m checking in on you.”

“How thoughtful.” Corvo’s dry and drowsy tone was muffled by the pillow, from where he’d sunk his head into it.

Daud _had_ merely intended to check, make sure he was still breathing and that he hadn’t smothered himself with the pillow. But the sight of Corvo shifting into the covers, leaning into his touch like one of their wolfhounds, pliant and half asleep once more, had Daud selfishly unwilling to move from him.

He rose to sit on the bed instead, continuing to sift his fingers through Corvo’s hair, dishevelling it more than it had previously been. Corvo tried to curl away from him, but Daud chuckled and caught his jaw gently, stooping forwards to press their lips together.

“And you call me a pest,” Corvo muttered against his mouth. He fisted his fingers into Daud’s shirt and dragged him, with what little strength he could muster, onto the bed and between his legs.

And for a while, that was all. Corvo let himself be kissed, pushing against him bonelessly, still on the lethargic road to waking up. Daud merely settled above him, deciding this was enough if it was what Corvo wished. But Corvo opened his mouth a little more, and their lips pressed hot together, and Daud was suddenly aware of every point of contact between them. The nudge of Corvo’s hipbone into his side, the tickle of his hair against Daud’s jaw, the way their ankles had tangled together.

Daud mouthed at his neck as Corvo’s hands struggled to push his shirt from his shoulders. Daud shrugged it off once it was clear Corvo wasn’t getting anywhere, fatigued and sleep-muddled as he was. Feeling Corvo’s thighs around his hips, curving and pressing him closer, Daud was brusquely and achingly reminded of how long it had been.

“If you want to rest,” he warned, words stifled against Corvo’s throat, “tell me now, and I’ll leave you.” Better to offer now, Daud thought. One more tight push of Corvo’s hips, and there would be no leaving for him.

But he felt Corvo shake his head. “Slept enough.” And then Daud was drawn up, and they were kissing again, with sliding tongues, and hot, panting breaths. Corvo caught Daud’s lip between his teeth and sucked, his fingers tightening in Daud’s hair. “Please. There may not be time after today, and, Void, I want you.”

Ever to the point. And Daud doubted that more encouraging words had ever been spoken. He kissed him harder than before, in agreement, in thanks, he didn’t know. There was little room for thought now, because Void be damned, he wanted him too. Needed him. There had been no time for this, time to remind one another that what they had between them was still there, conspiracy or no. Perhaps that’s why Martin’s comments had always so deeply driven a seed of doubt inside him.

“Whatever you’re thinking about,” Corvo began, bringing Daud from his misgivings and making him realise that he had paused, rather awkwardly, in the midst of sucking a bruise into Corvo’s neck. “Stop. It’s distracting you, and that’s annoying.”

Daud grunted an apology, and then a reproach for Corvo’s unembellished honesty. And then he pushed all thoughts of Martin and the Loyalists from his head, until there was nothing but the attic room, their sanctuary from the rest of the conspiracy, and Corvo.

The man arched beneath his weight, his muscles still tense from the previous evening. The rich fabric of Corvo’s shirt, still adorned from the party, felt almost sinful under Daud’s hands. He could already feel Corvo’s hardness pressing into his hip. Daud shifted lower to tug Corvo’s shirt up, and press his lips beneath his ribs, his tongue following the curves to Corvo’s waist.

Corvo writhed beneath him, fingers grazing over the contours of Daud’s back. He shuddered when Daud leaned up and got his mouth around one nipple, teasing the bead against his stroking tongue, feeling it harden between his lips. Pulling at the hot skin with his teeth, Daud dragged his own trousers from himself, and then gripped the hem of Corvo’s and pushed them down, and off, abandoning both pairs somewhere over the side of the bed. He edged down, lapping at the trail of precome over Corvo’s stomach, and he licked a long, slow line along Corvo’s cock with the flat of his tongue.

At the sound of Corvo’s stuttered breathing, Daud was reminded of the first time he’d seen the man like this; spread beneath him in Rudshore, eyes tightly shut in his pleasure, every reaction from him honest and unadorned. Daud had lain with experienced men before, and a few women throughout the years, but no one stirred him as Corvo did. He was fearless, and wholehearted, and Daud felt a surge of hunger and adoration when Corvo hooked one leg across his lower back and urged him on.

Daud began slowly, the movement of his lips tight and controlled. Corvo’s thighs squeezed and flexed around his back, and Daud felt them coil either side of him when he took a firm grasp on Corvo’s waist, and swallowed him down in a quick, merciless movement. Daud glimpsed upwards as he gave a hard suck, rewarded by the sight of Corvo’s bared throat, his head angled back and his mess of hair splayed out against the pillow. Daud pulled back, and then took him deep, feasting in the low keen of his name that the action drew from Corvo’s lips.

Daud kept that pace, gorging on the taste and the sounds that Corvo made, the desperate scrape of his fingers through Daud’s hair and the struggle of his hips, fighting to writhe under Daud’s iron grip. He felt Corvo swell and jerk against his tongue, and his grasp on Daud’s hair was becoming painful. It had taken a while for Corvo to become used to such mannerisms; his hands had always sought out the sheets, endearing and uncertain how Daud would react to twisting his fingers into his hair and taking what he wanted.

Daud had certainly taught him much since then, he credited himself, as Corvo tightened his grip and tried to push deeper into Daud’s mouth. Daud slid his hands under the curve of Corvo’s back, and allowed him to thrust between his parted lips. His own hardness lay thick and untouched between them, but Daud kept his hands on Corvo, sucking him hard and laving his tongue over the tip. Corvo seized suddenly underneath him, and spilled over his tongue, coating Daud’s mouth in the bitter, errant taste of him. Corvo was left breathing heavily against the sheets, trembling as Daud swallowed around him, slipping his mouth away only when Corvo started to squirm.

“You’ve become rather bossy,” Daud baited, lapping at the underside of Corvo’s thigh, where a few trickles of seed had escaped him. His voice was thick, rough from the force of Corvo’s hips against his throat. “That can’t be my doing, surely.”

Corvo gave a huff in response, easing his hands from Daud’s hair, only to grab the back of his neck and guide him up. Corvo pushed his tongue past his lips, sliding it over Daud’s, perhaps to chase his own taste. Daud was painfully reminded of his own need, dripping obscenely against Corvo’s stomach as the man kissed him fiercely. Daud couldn’t refrain from rutting between his legs a few times, desperately seeking any friction he could to ease the throbbing tension.

“We’re not done,” Corvo said against him, more a promise to Daud than a demand of his own. He reached back, searching blindly with one hand beneath the pillow, until he pulled out the small vial of oil kept there.

 _Thank the Void_ , Daud replied roughly in his head, as he hoisted his hands under Corvo’s legs and hauled him up, until the man was kneeling in his lap. Corvo offered him the oil. He frowned when Daud shook his head.

“I want to watch you ready yourself for me.” Daud slid his hands beneath the back of Corvo’s shirt, up and along his tattoos. He felt Corvo shudder at his words. “Can you do that?”

Corvo breathed out a curse in reply, a shaking hand bringing the vial to his teeth to uncork it. He lathered two fingers, lips parting slightly and toes curling as Daud held him open with both hands. Daud pinched the skin of his neck with his teeth, in an attempt to relax him, as Corvo began moving the pads of his fingers over the tight ring of muscle. He was nervous, Daud could tell; Corvo had never been asked to do this before, he knew that. Daud was the first. He had always been the first, and a familiar rush of greed and pride at that fact urged him to take Corvo’s jaw and press their lips together.

As he always did, Corvo grew in confidence bit by bit, working his fingers into himself and relishing in the heated look that was likely on Daud’s face as he watched him, his hands kneading into the taut flesh of the man’s cheeks. Corvo had grown hard again, and as his wrist began to turn and twist behind his back, Daud shifted one of his hands and eased two fingers in alongside Corvo’s own.

A sound between a moan and a whimper left Corvo’s throat, and he dropped his head onto Daud’s shoulder as they both stretched him, driving their fingers up into him. Daud refused to see to himself, no matter how unbearable his own arousal had become. He wanted Corvo’s heat to overwhelm him, undo him, and the slick tightness of the man around his fingers had Daud gritting his teeth in overwrought anticipation.

Corvo began to roll his hips against the thrust of Daud’s fingers, and a faltering breath escaped him when Daud withdrew them, and took Corvo’s wrist to remove his own.

“Patience,” Daud chided, though his voice was uneven, and he choked back a grunt when he took some oil into his hand and slicked it over himself. The friction of his palm was searing, but he was grounded by Corvo’s lips on his, as the man placed himself fully over Daud’s lap.

Corvo moved to discard his shirt, about to pull it over his head, but Daud caught his arm swiftly, and sucked another deep bite into his neck as recompense.

“Keep it on,” Daud rasped the order out. He’d become rather fond of the attire. Corvo looked exquisite in it, had done all throughout the previous night, not that the man had any clue. The shirt was fine, and deep-black, and Corvo wore it well, especially with nothing else to accompany it. Daud was determined, should they ever leave Dunwall after the conspiracy, to find Corvo many more like it.

Corvo did as he was told, leaving the garment loose and hanging rebelliously off one shoulder. Daud marked the exposed skin with his teeth, while he guided Corvo’s hips down over his. At the first press of the flushed, tight flesh around his tip, Daud grated out a coarse and heavy moan against Corvo’s shoulder, and when Corvo pushed down the rest of the way, insistent and impatient, Daud felt the unrelenting heat clenching in his stomach. If he were a younger man, with less practice, Daud suspected he may have come there and then at such a feeling.

Corvo was beautiful, knelt above him, leaning his weight into Daud’s chest and starting to move with fierce and self-possessed abandon. So different from the first time, Daud thought once again, as Corvo rode into his lap with firm and possessive pushes of his hips. The claim Corvo staked was inscribed over his skin as well as in his movements, in the black patterns of the Arcane Bond they both shared.

Daud let him move as he pleased for a few moments, thrusting up in unison with Corvo’s grinding hips, gripping them almost brutally. Corvo’s fingers dug into his shoulders as he moaned loudly, unrestrained and uncaring of anyone listening below the attic. He was a sublimely contained chaos in Daud’s arms, addictive, potentially dangerous, like nothing Daud had ever experienced before.

He couldn’t hold on, and Daud wrapped his arms around Corvo’s waist and fucked him like that, spreading his thighs wide so Daud could pull him down onto his cock as he thrust. It was deep and rough and blissful, and against his ear, breath hot over Corvo’s damp skin, Daud whispered, “You’re mine.”

“Yes–” Corvo jerked his head in a nod, grinding urgently against him. “Yes–” He arched his back, and a wrecked moan left him at the new angle.

Daud worked his hips harder, his hands moving restlessly over Corvo’s back, his sides. Corvo’s groans pitched higher and he became more breathless, his rocking more erratic. Daud snaked a hand between them to grasp his cock, and Corvo made a desperate noise at the touch of his fingers, rutting against his palm. He came in seconds, on a broken whine of Daud’s name as he clenched down on him, still buried inside.

Daud held him tightly, desperate not to lose that rhythm, and he thrust into him in rapid, smooth strokes. Corvo kept moving with him, spent but determined to see him through, and Daud came thickly like that. Cursing through the throes of bliss Corvo’s heat granted him, as his cock throbbed inside him, spending the last few weeks of tension and frustration they’d both bore.

Daud’s fingers ached from the force of his grip on Corvo’s waist, and when he uncurled them from his skin, he saw dark bruises forming in their wake. He’d learned that apologising for such things was unnecessary, and unwanted; Corvo always brushed it off. Daud had caught him pressing his fingers to the marks many times, something smug and pleased in his expression.

He eased himself from Corvo, the man too sluggish push himself off, and Daud lay back onto the mattress with Corvo sprawled against his chest, face-down on his shoulder. He looked like a ragdoll.

“Graceful,” Daud gave a gruff chuckle, amusing himself with the comparison. Corvo lifted his head, and merely answered with a glare. “You’re not so easily insulted, don’t pretend. It’s not nearly as bad as I’ve heard Rulfio say to you.”

Corvo mumbled a retort, some insult or other, and made a grab at the sheets, managing to close his hand around them on the third try. He pulled the covers over himself, and half of Daud, making himself comfortable beneath them once again.

Daud allowed him that much, still waiting for his own breathing to steady and his heart to quieten.

“Not long now.”

“Hmm?”

“Until we’re done.” Corvo’s voice was low, his breath warm against his shoulder. “Only the Regent left.”

“Mm. You made a hard decision last night. But I think it was the right one.” He hadn’t told him before, he realised, and Daud silently cursed himself for it. It was clear, to those who’d known Corvo longest, that the man had been doubting himself since the party. “Don’t listen to what the Admiral has to say, or that prissy nobleman. Don’t let them have a say in how you do their work for them.”

Corvo peered up at him through his hair. “Have you been talking to Samuel?”

Daud huffed. “He’s a wise one, your boatman. I’m grateful he’s on our side.”

“I’m grateful you let him stay in Rudshore with us. Rin told me you were planning to kill him when you met.”

“Rinaldo brought a stranger into our home,” Daud grunted, “and I acted accordingly. And he had some wild claims about your alleged death, what was I supposed to think.”

Corvo hummed, and pushed himself up to meet his eyes. “You should have had more faith in me.”

It would have sounded pigheaded, arrogant to anyone else. But Daud knew when Corvo was teasing him. It was the slight narrowing of his eyes, and the smallest twitch of his lips, that gave it away.

“Had I known then that you were too stubborn to let even death take you from me, perhaps I would have.”

“Nothing could take me from you.” Corvo’s tone was unbearably gentle, the playfulness from before all of a sudden gone.

Daud didn’t have a response. Instead, he pulled Corvo down against him, and rested his chin atop his head. They shared the silence, and it became difficult to believe, with Corvo’s warmth against him as the man nestled close, that the rest of the city had gone to shit beyond the walls of their attic room. Daud almost laughed at the thought. What a sentimental old man he was becoming.

“Would you leave with me, after this?” Daud hadn’t entirely meant to ask aloud, but the words escaped him nonetheless. “Once this is over, would you find a life with me somewhere else?”

He waited for a reply, and glanced down after a few moments when none came. Corvo had fallen asleep, slumped over him, both of them with their heads resting on the wrong end of the bed.

Daud tugged the sheets up further to cover him, and considered where they would go once it had all come to an end.

*

“The sewers below Coldridge Prison?” Martin would have never thought of that. “Are you quite sure, Samuel?”

“Yes, sir.” The boatman looked genuine enough. And in a room among his allies and betters, he had little cause to lie, Martin supposed. “When I used to ferry packages across the river, some black market owners liked to store their merchandise there for safekeeping. The spot isn’t used anymore, but it's well hidden. And the Watch don’t know it exists.”

“And it can be reached from Wrenhaven?” Pendleton asked. “By boat?”

“Yes, of course by boat, Trevor.” Martin couldn’t restrain the urge to sigh heavily. “The sewers run _into_ the river. I’m sure the spot will be quite accessible from a riverboat.” He cast an inquiring look Samuel’s way, “Is that right, Samuel.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Splendid. Then, if you wouldn’t mind marking the point on the map?”

The boatman shuffled over to the desk, and circled an area beneath the prison. It would be risky, Martin admitted, but no one would go snooping around there, at least. Whatever someone stored behind the sewer gate, it would be safe and untouched for a few days, until it was time to pick it back up. It was perfect. They had made a good investment in the boatman and his knowledge of the river.

“Much appreciated, Samuel.” The Admiral stood, and shook the boatman’s hand. He motioned to the door, “I believe that’s all we require of you, for now.”

Samuel nodded and thanked them. Martin couldn’t help noticing the way he paused once he reached the door.

“Sirs... what are you planning on storing there, if it’s not too bold for me to ask?”

The Overseer saw Pendleton, poised and about to answer in the corner of his eye. He quickly cut him off at the mark. “I’m afraid that’s need to know for the moment, Samuel.” Martin gave the boatman a warm smile, in an attempt to quash his reservations. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with. You’ve been a wonderful help this afternoon.”

The boatman didn’t look reassured, but he gave another, stiffer nod, and left through the door, shutting it behind him after he’d made his way out into the corridor.

Pendleton clicked his tongue. “You could have lied, spun some story or other. I thought you were good at that.”

“A misguided truth can be more effective than an outright lie, Trevor.” Martin had long lost patience for the whining lilt of the nobleman’s voice. Once the conspiracy was no longer needed, he wouldn’t be too sorry to see the back of Trevor Pendleton. “And I’m an Overseer. I don’t take a lying tongue lightly, you know.”

Before Pendleton could offer a retort, the Admiral raised a hand, pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. “I want no more arguing. We’ve had more than enough of that.”

“Do refresh us as to why, Admiral.” Martin pretended to ponder it. “Ah, yes, it’s coming back to me now. Trevor’s folly almost toppled everything we’ve worked for.”

“Nonsense–”

“You told Brisby everything, what if he had talked? Told someone where we were based, what we were doing?”

Pendleton tutted, and drew his drinks flask from his coat, in the same manner someone else may have done with a sword. “Brisby would have never.”

“Loyalty only goes so far.”

“Yes, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Martin?” Pendleton sneered. “Working against your own Abbey.”

“You know something of it yourself, I’d wager. Asking for your own brothers to be killed–”

“That’s enough.” Havelock sounded tired, but the hard edge to his voice had both Martin and the nobleman backing off. The Admiral took a seat once more behind the desk, leaning back wearily. “The Boyle party was a close call, closer than I’d like. We knew we were taking a risk, allying with Daud’s people. But they’ve gotten us this far, despite a few hitches in the road.”

“A few hitches,” Pendleton spluttered. “Brisby is probably dead as we speak!”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have involved him, then,” Martin said sourly. “Whatever has happened to Brisby is your own doing.”

“Do not keep blaming me, Martin!” The nobleman’s face was becoming a little red. Though from the alcohol or Martin’s jeers, the Overseer couldn’t be sure. “This is Corvo’s doing, damn him. Forget taking a risk with Daud’s men, the biggest risk we have is that boy–”

“He may be a risk,” Havelock interrupted, raising his hand again to silence them. “But he’s a necessary one.”

“Not for much longer,” Pendleton muttered, taking a healthy swig from his flask. The stench of the spirits made Martin’s nose wrinkle. “We’re almost at the Regent’s door.”

“And we need Corvo to get it open.” The Admiral sighed through his nose, long and weary, and then he looked to Martin. “How long until your delivery gets here?”

“It will come before we send Corvo to Dunwall Tower. Not to worry, Admiral.” Martin granted Havelock the most heartening smile he could muster. “Everything will go to plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to bump this baby up to explicit. I hope you're happy.


	3. The Goodhearted

Corvo hadn’t planned to come across the late Empress’ safe room. As he’d tread through the corridor, it was by complete chance that he noticed the light on the wall was tilted. A sure sign of secrets in the otherwise immaculate Tower interior.

He’d expected a passageway. With luck, something to help them reach Burrows on the rooftop, where the man cowered like the simpering rat that he was.

Instead, he found Jessamine’s audiograph.

_‘Emily. My daughter–’_

When Corvo heard her voice, he switched the recording off and moved to close the panel that cut the safe room off from the corridor, blocking any sound that may have carried outside and caught the ears of passersby. The Tower was full of guards, Overseers and their hounds tonight, evidence of Burrows growing paranoia that someone was coming after him.

Daud was likely still around the lower floors, ridding them of the cultists and any music boxes they were carrying. Corvo had been subject to the machines for a week in Holger Square, unable to use his Mark against the discordant drone they made. Daud had thought it best to take the slow and safe option, and deal with them first upon getting inside the Tower.

Once he was safely shut inside, Corvo pushed the audiograph switch again, and listened.

He could hear the love Jessamine had held for Emily. She spoke of the former Lord Protector, Emily’s father, taken from them by the plague. She confessed the unfairness of Emily’s inheritance, something Corvo couldn’t help but agree with.

 _‘It was not your choice to be the daughter of an Empress. Stay goodhearted, Emily,’_  Jessamine plead, her voice edging into something close to a prayer. Corvo felt an abrupt tightness knotting in his chest.  _‘Keep drawing, and telling stories. And only share your power with those you truly trust.’_

Corvo breathed a heavy sigh through his nose as the recording ended, and he rested his palms flat on the desk. The window to his right invited just a sliver of light into the room, casting a soft glow over the bookshelf, the chair, a little table, all squeezed neatly together in the small space.

 _Stay goodhearted._ So that was Jessamine’s final appeal for her daughter. A fine job Corvo had done so far, killing the Pendleton brothers the day he had sworn his loyalty to Emily.

Corvo couldn’t safeguard her innocence if he continued murdering in her name, as he’d done with Morgan and Custis. He had known that plainly, and still he’d killed them. What would Jessamine have thought of that, he asked himself bitterly.

 _Stay goodhearted._ If that was truly what the Empress had wished, then Corvo would respect is as best he could. And that meant breaking his promise to Emily herself.

_"Will you kill the Spymaster, Corvo? Are you going to kill him?"_

_"If that’s what you ask of me, Empress,"_  he had said.  _"It will be done."_

The Admiral, of course, wanted Burrows dead as well. But after his response to Corvo's actions at the Boyle Manor, that man’s say was as less a concern to him as a flea was to a wolfhound. Emily's say mattered far more, and Corvo had given her his word to end the Regent’s life. Would the girl hate him for breaking it?

Corvo shook that fear aside after a few moments of deliberation. Making a reckless promise like that wasn’t something that could be upheld in the long run. It was childish, and thoughtless. Emily would be Empress someday, whether she liked it or not. She needed to learn that not everything would go her way merely because she desired it so.

He took Jessamine’s audiograph card and stored it inside his coat. Emily would want to have it. And if there was another way to rid Dunwall of the Regent tonight, Corvo would find it, and take that path instead.

Perhaps, Corvo thought as he retreated from the alcove to find Daud, this is what the Outsider had meant when he'd warned him of life and death.

***

“Wyman?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever killed someone?”

Aeolos paused their flicking through a book. It was one of Emily’s, something about whale oil and other industrial marvels in Dunwall’s history. It was the sort of book Daud would read for fun. Aeolos suspected Callista had been the one to add it to Emily’s collection in the tower bedroom, in the hopes it would educate her.

Instead, the Empress was laid out on her stomach, elbow resting on Aeolos’ knee. She was scribbling something in dark crayon. The Whaler gave her drawing a quick peek, and saw a badly sketched Corvo perched on a building.

Aeolos prayed for the city, that Emily would be a better Empress than she was an artist.

“I have.”

Emily’s gaze shot up. “Really?”

“Once. An Overseer.”

“Like Martin?”

“Sort of. But Martin’s not so bad for someone from the Abbey. _My_ Overseer was.”

“Would they have killed you?”

“Yes.” Without a split second of doubt. Aeolos could recall the fevered hatred in the cultist’s eyes behind the gold mask.

“When? What happened?”

“I’m surprised Attano hasn’t told you. Another Whaler betrayed Daud, and let the Overseers find us at our home.”

“Corvo told me some of it. But I thought everyone was loyal to Daud?”

“We are. Billie was...” Aeolos hunted for an appropriate word. “Different, I suppose. Difficult.”

“But Daud always says Corvo’s difficult.”

Aeolos smiled. “He is, but not in the same way Billie was. I don't think Attano would ever go behind Daud’s back. Not for any reason.”

Emily nodded slowly, reassured by their answer. It was good to know the Empress had softened towards Daud, if only a fraction. As proof of it, there was a scribble of their leader hanging on the wall amidst Emily’s other drawings in the bedroom. It wasn’t a particularly flattering likeness, but it was on display all the same, and the Whaler decided that was what counted.

For someone so young, someone who knew so little about the world at large, Emily’s perception was better than most adults. Aeolos knew she understood the Daud wasn’t the only culprit in her mother’s murder, despite having held the knife.

Emily stood and stretched, abandoning her crayons on the carpet. She walked to the window and leaned forward to peer outside. Aeolos noticed her shoulders were suddenly hunched, tensed.

“What’s wrong, Emily?”

“I asked Corvo to kill my Spymaster.” Her voice was quiet, lacking its usual impish charm that Aeolos had become so used to hearing. “That’s where he’s gone now.”

“I know. He asked me to keep my eye on you while he was away.”

Emily chewed on her lower lip, and peered around at them. “But... you’re staying anyway, right? Not just because Corvo told you to?”

“Of course I am. We’re friends.” Aeolos closed their book, and moved to stand beside her at the window.

Emily’s dark eyes were both piercing and vulnerable all at once. Aeolos was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to pull her close. She looked so small, standing against the darkness outside, arms crossed over each other on the window ledge.

“And friends are honest with each other. You can tell me what's wrong.”

“The Spymaster’s the reason my mother died, and it felt good when I asked Corvo to kill him, at the time. Now I... I don’t know. I don’t think it’s right to order someone to kill someone else just because I can.”

“You wanted revenge for what the Spymaster did.”

Emily nodded, ashamed. Her eyes were beginning to sheen over with tears. “Callista told me, although I’m Empress, it isn’t just about what _I_ want. I have to think of other people. I’m not the only one the Spymaster’s done bad things to.”

She sniffed, trying to hide her distress behind her arm. Aeolos shifted closer and wrapped their arm around her.

“I should’ve–” Emily broke off to sniff, the motion jerking Aeolos’ head where it rested atop hers, causing them to almost bite into their tongue. “I should’ve told Corvo to find another way to get rid of him. I don’t want him dead anymore, I want him to answer for what he did. I want everyone to know he’s been...” Emily struggled for the words.

Aeolos knew exactly what she meant. “You want people to know he’s been punished for hurting them.”

Like Timsh. Aeolos remembered Thomas telling them about the job in the Legal District, about Daud and Corvo finding another way to get rid of the Barrister and expose everything he’d done. All without killing him.

Emily rested her head on Aeolos’ shoulder, and wiped her nose with her sleeve. They could both see Dunwall Tower across the river, its outline faint in the murky light.

Aeolos wondered grimly where Burrows was inside, and whether he was still alive.

***

By some merciful miracle, Corvo had gotten them to the rooftop, and the guards remained none the wiser to their presence there. Daud muttered a litany of curses, something about Corvo being the death of them both, as they stepped out into the cold outdoors. The man’s fingers finally relaxed around the grip of his sword.

Daud’s agreement to help him find the Regent’s safe code had been grunted reluctantly, but Corvo could pinpoint the signs of relief in Daud’s bearing with little effort. Despite all that had happened, the Overseer surge, Brigmore Manor and Delilah, Corvo suspected that killing would never come so easily for Daud again.

“If the combination is somewhere else–”

“Won’t be,” Corvo cut him off. “Burrows is careful.”

“Careful," Daud scoffed. "He's paranoid to a fault.”

“You have that in common,” Corvo retorted, not unkindly, as he peered around the wall and sighted each of the men standing guard outside the roof’s bunker. “The safe code will be with him.”

“Your certainty inspires me.” The remark was dryly delivered, but Corvo found Daud’s pressure at his back a warm support while he counted the final Watch officer patrolling across the quad. “How many are there?”

“Eight.”

“And there’ll be more inside the bunker.” Daud took a sweeping glance around the yard as well, for his own piece of mind. “Whatever’s in that safe better be worth it,” he added gruffly.

Corvo was convicted it would be. Just like Bunting’s apartment in the Distillery District, a locked safe meant something important lay inside. Possibly something damning enough to have the Lord Regent arrested. They wouldn’t kill Burrows, so they needed something else. To shame him, expose him in front of the city so there was no hope of him wriggling away. It was like Barrister Timsh all over again, and they had danced this particular dance before. Perhaps not to this political scale, but the bare basis of their goal was the same.

“They’re circling.” Daud jerked his head to a pair of guards, idling near the bunker’s side wall. “When they move again, check for open windows. Signal me if you find one. I’ll watch your back from here.”

The men began their loop again, walking around the perimeter of the roof's quad, and Corvo blinked to the empty area they left behind. Above him, one of the bunker’s shutters was ajar. Corvo lept up to grab the ledge, and hoisted himself up to take a look inside.

He hurriedly stepped backwards when he caught a glimpse of what was patrolling the hall, and he slipped off in the ledge in the process, stumbling onto one knee as he collided with the ground. The Watch officers were making their return trip, but before they could spot him, a green dart pierced one’s neck, and Daud transversed behind the other to choke him out. Corvo quickly grabbed the darted guard, and they hauled the pair out of sight around the corner.

“You fell.” Daud’s surprised and sardonic tone didn’t mask the concern underneath as he subtly looked Corvo over. “You’ve never fallen, not in the decade I’ve known you.”

Corvo ignored his flush of embarrassment. “There’s a Tallboy.”

Any and all flippancy drained from Daud’s expression. Sure enough, the harsh clank of the machine’s legs against the bunker’s marble floor rattled the shutters as it passed by inside.

“We haven’t dealt with one before.”

“I know.”

“What shall we do?”

“That, I don’t know.” Daud’s hard gaze followed the sound as though he could see its source. “It seems to be taking the same route. Did you see what it was doing?”

“Walking the length of the room,” Corvo answered. “There’s an upper floor, behind a Wall of Light, and a door at the top of the stairs” He had seen enough, in the few seconds he’d been spared before the Tallboy had turned dangerously close to seeing him. “The door has space above it. I could fit.”

“You’re sure?”

“It looked like I’d fit.”

Daud breathed another curse, fingers clenching and unclenching into fists in a perturbed gesture.

“Burrows will be on the upper level,” Corvo pointed out.

“On which there will undoubtedly be more guards, and of which the Tallboy will have a view of.”

“There might be a blind spot.”

“ _Might_. How I despise that word.” Daud’s furtive gaze flit over him, before settling grimly on the open shutter. “You’ll try anyway, so I’m wasting my breath telling you what a careless plan this is. Be quick about it. I’ll watch the damned Tallboy.”

“And if it sees me?”

“Then we’ll find out if they can, against all rumours of them, be reduced to rubble.” Daud loaded an incendiary bolt into his wristbow, and motioned Corvo up. “Go on.”

Corvo hopped back onto the ledge, and this time made sure to drop swiftly down into the hall. There were columns of bookshelves shielding him from the Tallboy’s view. He heard Daud follow and land behind him.

“Make for the stairs when it’s back is to the room.”

Corvo nodded. He watched as the Tallboy continued to march, its shadow looming over them as it passed by. Corvo got ready to blink across the hall–

“Wait!” Daud’s hand fisted into his coat and pulled him back. Corvo saw an Overseer emerge from the neighbouring room, a music box clutched securely to his chest.

He released an unsteady sigh, thankful for Daud’s quick reflexes; he hadn’t noticed the cultist. Corvo placed a hand on Daud’s arm, reassuring, where the man’s hand still gripped his coat as though afraid to release him.

Once the Overseer had retreated from sight, and the Tallboy had made its rounds again, Corvo headed for the stairs, and blinked up to the small niche between the door and the ceiling. He fit, barely, having to bow low as he could to squeeze into the space. The Wall of Light alongside the door sizzled precariously at his movement, but settled after some seconds.

Corvo took in the room beneath him on the upper level, and saw Hiram Burrows standing pensively in front of some kind of war table. Only one guard accompanied him.

“That will be all, Corporal. Leave me in peace.”

“Yes, Lord Regent. Please call if you need anything. I’ll be just downstairs.”

The guard walked to the staircase, before Burrows ushered him back. “Oh, Corporal?”

The officer had stopped directly below Corvo’s perch. Corvo’s legs were starting to strain from being crouched so low.

“Damian... something or other, wasn’t it?”

“It’s Darion, Sir.”

“Yes, yes. Any word on our mysterious assassin? I want to see dear Waverly returned safely to her home. This whole mess has been a disgrace, utterly unacceptable.”

The Corporal looked visibly irked from what Corvo could see of his face. He wondered what it must be like, to work for a leader he neither respected nor cared for. Corvo was luckier than him, in that regard.

“Nothing yet. My apologies for that, Sir,” Darion said, standing his ground admirably. “We have the best men working to find Lady Boyle. And working to protect you here, of course.”

“Good, very good. Just have her found, and quickly. I won’t tolerate any further scandal.”

The Regent gestured the officer out with a discourteous wave. Darion looked relieved as he closed the door behind him and descended the stairs.

Corvo watched Burrows scurry around what appeared to be a planning room, like Daud’s office in Rudshore. The Regent went about his business, organising documents, overlooking proposals, moving little figurines in the shape of Watch towers and Tallboys about on the table map of Dunwall. Whatever he was doing, just the sight of him made Corvo’s stomach turn in distaste. He had never interacted with Burrows personally, even throughout all the years the Whalers had been in his service. Corvo suspected only Daud had ever had the _pleasure_ of speaking with the man.

It would be laughably easy. To drop down behind him and draw his sword. Or use his wristbow, he needn’t even move from his place above the doorway. Corvo could see each and every outcome, whether he used a blade or a bolt, or his rats. Whether he merely grabbed Burrows by his collar, dragged him to the railings of the second floor and tipped him over the edge, the result he imagined would come afterwards was the same. Vengeance. A sick kind of gratification.

Ugly, cruel emotions that Corvo never in a hundred lifetimes wanted Emily to feel.

_Stay goodhearted._

So Corvo spied out what was tied to the Regent’s belt instead.

He waited until the Tallboy had turned its back to the Wall of Light, before dropping to the floor and lifting a promising, sealed scroll of paper from just beneath Burrows’ coat. The man didn’t even turn his eyes away from the war table.

Corvo backtracked his path and left the Regent there, alive, and overlooking his city for what would be the final time.

“This,” Daud groused, once they had made it back inside the Tower, “is imbecilic.”

Corvo felt a pang of fondness at his irritable tone. He vaulted over the side of the walkway, managing to throw his blink just far enough to land on the balcony of the Regent’s bedchambers.

Daud followed him into the room, and granted the parchment that Corvo had stolen a prickly glare. “I despise riddles. Burrows probably thought he was being clever. It’s a damned headache.”

“Hush,” Corvo rebuked as he approached the safe. “Read it to me again.”

He could _feel_  Daud glowering from the other side of the room, before the man did as he was asked. “‘What bites with no teeth, what howls with no mouth, and what gives life with no womb’. If only everything was solved so simply,” he mused.

“It’s an effort to be clever, at least.”

“It’s imbecilic,” Daud repeated, passing the paper to Corvo.

“The cold, the wind...” Corvo tapped two fingers against combination lock. “And the harvest.”

“The combination. Our months. Seven, five, two.”

Corvo selected the numbers as Daud said them, and heard the safe’s inner mechanisms begin to click and slide to separate from one another. The door cranked open, and Daud came to stand at his side.

“Let’s see what was worth the trouble of stealing that preposterous riddle.”

***

After Emily had calmed down, Aeolos snuck her out of her bedroom in the tower, and led her to their spot on the beach. They were lucky that Emily’s nursemaid slept like the dead.

It was after midnight, and they sat on the damp sand together, their faces illuminated by the moon’s gloomy beams. The light struggled valiantly to reach them through Dunwall’s ever-present cloud cover. Emily seemed to have forgotten her earlier turmoil, for now at least. Let her forget for a few more hours, Aeolos silently asked whoever, whatever, might be listening to them. Emily had been through so much sorrow already. Let her have some peace for a small while longer.

“What are you most looking forward to, Emily?” Aeolos asked. “About going back to your home.”

“Climbing the roof again,” Emily grinned as she patted down the walls of her wonky sandcastle. “It’s so tall! I found a secret way up there that no one else knows about. I hope nobody’s found it while I’ve been gone.” Her nose wrinkled in displeasure at the thought, and Aeolos had long found themself unable to keep from smiling at the sight of the gesture.

They helped her flatten the castle’s sides, gathering more sand for the turrets Emily was clumsily trying to fashion. “What else?”

“Hmm... Annoying the cook! He was always really grumpy, even more than Daud. He chased me out the kitchens with a rolling pin once. Then he was told off because he got flour everywhere!”

Aeolos chuckled. They could picture the scene so easily. Emily, darting about in her fancy clothes and with flour in her hair, that grin on her face as a red-cheeked man in a chef’s uniform tried in vain to catch her.

“What about you?” Emily asked, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration as she began digging the castle’s moat.

Aeolos pondered it. There were a lot of things they missed about Rudshore, and not all of it was so simply explained. They missed the way the flood water, grimy as it was, reflected the sun in the rare occasions it was out, and made everything look a bit nicer than it was. They missed hearing Hobson and Rinaldo argue in the kitchen every morning. They missed Fisher teasing them about the way they cut their hair.

“I miss the freedom,” Aeolos decided on. Emily would undoubtedly understand that. “Everything’s so closed in around here, it’s a very small District. And I miss not seeing Overseers around all the time,” they added, shooting a pointed look towards the pub where Martin slept.

“Martin’s better than Pendleton though. Pendleton’s so stuffy!”

“You’ll have to talk to a lot of people like Pendleton when you’re the Empress,” Aeolos teased. They angled their chin upwards and looked down at Emily along the length of their nose. “ _There is no good wine left,_ ” they mocked in Pendleton’s accent.  _“I demand you find a way to get me some more, Empress!”_

A giggle bubbled from Emily. _“I am the Empress,”_  she crowed, putting on a snooty voice that made Aeolos snort.  _“And I say you’ve had enough wine, my Lord! You’ve had so much your face is turning red from it!”_

Emily fell sideways onto Aeolos’ leg as she cackled, accidentally crushing her sandcastle beneath her shoulder. They laughed until they realised how loudly their voices echoed across the beach.

“It’s going to be so boring when I’m Empress,” Emily sighed, wiping the sand off her jacket. “Promise me you’ll visit all the time when I get back to the Tower. I’ll make the guards let you in. Or I’ll show you all the best places you can sneak through!”

Aeolos suspected it wouldn’t be as simple as that, but they didn’t have the heart to say so. Not when Emily looked so excited. “You’ll have to show me your bedroom. I bet it’s a lot bigger than the one you have here.”

“It’s huge,” Emily said, spreading her arms to emphasise. “I barely take up one corner of the bed! And there’s a fireplace, so it’s always warm. And a there’s a loose floorboard by the door where I hid all the ghost stories mother didn’t like me reading,” she continued. “We can read them together when you come and visit. We can turn all the lights out, and hide under the covers with a lantern to make it scarier, just like we do here!”

Aeolos let themselves picture it. Them, the playmate of an Empress. It would have been a ludicrous thought, weeks ago. But Emily was different to the other snobbish nobles the Whalers had worked for in the past. And Aeolos realised, dully aware that Emily was waiting for them to respond, that they didn’t miss Rudshore as much as they suspected they would miss Emily, once they had parted ways.

“It sounds perfect,” they answered eventually.

Emily’s company was beginning to feel like home, and Aeolos hoped that her talk of a future for them wasn’t as impossible as it sounded.

The Empress fell asleep after a while, in the middle of Aeolos telling her another of Chester's ghost stories. The Whaler thought it best to halt their late night exploits there before Emily caught a cold.

They made certain Emily was tucked securely against their chest, before transversing them both up to the ruined tower's bedroom window. Callista was still sleeping, muttering quietly from beneath the covers. Emily snuffled, curling further into Aeolos’ warmth, and the Whaler gently placed her down onto the neighbouring bed. They saw the wristbow Daud had let her keep peeking out from under her pillow.

Emily’s coat was covered in sand, and there was no chance that Callista wouldn’t notice it when she woke. But Emily’s warden couldn't stop Aeolos from escorting her out of the tower. The Arcane Bond certainly made it easier to sneak Emily away for a while.

As per Corvo’s request, and Emily’s own, Aeolos stayed. Perched on the desk, they let their gaze wander to the window over their shoulder, and they soon caught a glimpse of Samuel’s boat, coasting safely back to them over the river’s gentle waves.

***

Corvo could still hear the Regent’s confession carrying over the river, even as Samuel ferried them away.

The safe had, as Daud threatened in the midst of his chagrin, been worth the trouble. And through some bribery and surprisingly little convincing, the Tower’s propaganda officer had handed control of his broadcast station over to them. The officer had all but sagged in relief when he witnessed Corporal Darion placing cuffs around the Lord Regent’s wrists. Burrows was as unpopular among his own circles as he was in the city at large, it seemed.

Corvo had watched the Regent beg and plead as he was escorted from the Tower. It wasn’t as gratifying as watching him die, Corvo was ashamed to admit to himself, but allowing Burrows to live, knowing he’d spend his life inside a cell in Coldridge prison, would bring peace to a lot of people’s minds.

And when Daud took his hand where it rested on the side of the Amaranth, Corvo decided the tenderness of the gesture was more than worth it. Samuel’s warm smile didn’t hurt, either.

“I heard the commotion in the gardens from down by the waterlock,” the boatman remarked. “To be honest, sirs, I feared you’d been caught when I did. But the Regent’s been taken into custody from the sounds of it.”

“They’ll put him in Coldridge until his trial,” Daud answered. Corvo felt the man's thumb brush over the back of his hand. "It was the better choice."

The pair continued to talk quietly, and Corvo closed his eyes to the sounds of their voices and the water catching on the Amaranth’s engine. Emily had her home back, and everyone knew the truth behind the plague and Jessamine’s death. It was over.

Samuel soon manoeuvred them into the Hound Pits’ small dock, and Corvo helped him tie the boat off while Daud went to meet their waiting party. The Admiral’s expression divulged into a harmful mix of astonishment and frustration while Daud spoke to him. Corvo assumed the man didn’t approve of his decision to spare Burrows’ life, and he wasn’t surprised. For his stoic exterior, Havelock was bloodthirsty underneath. A lot of ex-military men in Dunwall were.

Pendleton stayed at the Admiral’s side, merely looking comforted that the whole ordeal had reached its end. Corvo supposed he was eager to move back into his family’s mansion, with goose feather pillows and plump mattresses. And with no curious assassins rummaging through his belongings and pilfering his good wine.

Martin left his companions and Daud behind, in favour of drawing closer to Corvo. “So it’s done,” he greeted. His smile was kind, the skin around his eyes crinkling in that way Corvo had become unexpectedly fond of. “I’ll admit, I was fretting the whole time you were away. Though now I see I needn’t have been.”

“Burrows had half your Abbey in the Tower with him.”

“Ah,” Martin winced. “You didn’t...?”

“They’re all alive.”

The Overseer's shoulders visibly sagged with his relief. “And so is Hiram Burrows, from what Daud told the Admiral.”

Martin glimpsed to the other side of Wrenhaven, where the Regent's confession was still just audible. Corporal Darion had ordered it to be announced on repeat, to get the word out as far as possible despite the late hour.

“I’m not criticising, you know. Not at all,” the Overseer assured him. “Unlike our Admiral, I value more strategic approaches to removing obstacles. There’s no elegance in mindless slaughter.” Martin granted Daud a thin smile over his shoulder, where the man had approached them. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Daud didn’t rise to him. “I’ve placated the Admiral for now,” he told Corvo, jerking his head in Havelock's direction. The Admiral’s fists were clenched as he and Pendleton disappeared into the pub.

“He doesn’t look placated to me.”

“We’ll deal with any fall out later. You’ve done enough tonight.”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Martin said. “I’d say your triumph tonight deserves a celebration. I’m sure young Lady Emily would enjoy a party. Perhaps a little 'pre-coronation' coronation for her? I for one would like to toast our combined efforts throughout the conspiracy.”

Corvo had been to one party, and that had been enough for a lifetime. But the Overseer’s enthusiasm was infectious, and he found himself giving a hesitant nod. For Emily’s sake, if not his own. “Emily would like that.”

Martin beamed. “I’ll see what I can do, then. I imagine it will be a few days before it’s safe to reveal our young Empress to the world, so that gives me some time to work with.” He gave Corvo a glance up and down, and then smiled sheepishly. “You’re probably exhausted, aren’t you. I should let you go. By the Stars, you’ve earned a rest after everything.” He paused, and then looked to Daud, adding, “You both have. I don’t know what our cause would be now without the aid of you and your people.”

Daud’s eyes narrowed warily. Corvo suspected it was the most civil interaction he’d ever witnessed between the two.

“Goodnight, Corvo. Daud. And I'll see if I can speak to the Admiral, as well," Martin added. "Even alive, Burrows is no longer our problem, and that's what matters.”

Corvo gave him another nod, and Martin trailed the Admiral and Pendleton inside.

Samuel bid them goodnight himself, after he had straightened up from his routine checks on the boat and joined them in the yard. He headed to his own bed, and Daud and Corvo blinked up to the roof. Daud scanned the District as they went, to make sure each Whaler was at their assigned post.

"Should we let them know we're back?"

Daud gave a brief shake of his head. "Leave it for the morning. You and I both know they won't leave us in peace if we do."

Once inside the attic, Corvo shouldered off his coat, letting it to fall carelessly to the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to just appreciate the blessed stillness for a time. Corvo watched from under his hair while Daud draped his coat and shirt, far more neatly, over the back of one of the chairs.

Amidst his exhaustion, Corvo felt a conquering sense of all the restrictions he had had on him in the last few months suddenly loosening, unbolting, and fleeing from him. Delilah was gone and Emily would be safe now, with Callista and her uncle, with the Whalers watching over her. She could flourish under the guidance of advisers that would make sure she grew into a good leader. And once the conspiracy disbanded, Martin could reform the Abbey with the help of Campbell’s black book, and Sokolov, having surprised them all by striking up a recent and unexpected friendship with Piero, could get back to his work on curing the plague without the Lord Regent’s interference.

Dunwall had no more need of him. Corvo was free, from all but one constraint. He had promised Emily he wouldn’t leave her side.

Yet he had promised Daud he’d leave with him, as well.

He felt something akin to guilt rising in his chest. Could he keep his promises to both of them without breaking one or the other? An answer begin to form in his mind. Perhaps...

"Corvo?" He woke from his thoughts when Daud said his name. The man had stopped in the middle of shrugging a fresh shirt over his head. “What are you thinking about?”

Corvo just shot him a smile.

“Don’t be coy with me. I know that look.”

“We’ll go.”

“Go where?” Daud granted him a dry expression. “We just arrived back. I’m not joining you for one of your midnight wanders again. Infuriating habit,” he added as he finished tugging the shirt on.

“Give me time to make sure Emily’s truly safe at the Tower. We’ll watch her from Rudshore until we know for certain. Then we’ll _go,”_ Corvo emphasised.

He savoured the way Daud frowned at first, and then the man’s lips parted in understanding, as though not daring to believe it.

Daud stalked forward and knelt between Corvo’s legs, arms resting over his thighs. Corvo watched while the man searched his face, looking for any signs of deceit or uncertainty. He knew Daud would find none.

“And what of the troublemaker? Once you’re assured she’s safe, do we then leave her in the hands of those louts at the Tower? Alone?”

Corvo found himself suddenly distracted by the thawed grey colour of Daud’s eyes. It took a soft kiss, nudged into the corner of his mouth, to remind him what he’d been about to say. “She won't be alone. The men will stay with Emily, once we leave. You know we can trust them to do that,” he answered. “It can be your last order for to Thomas, before he takes over.”

Daud leaned up and pressed their foreheads together, one hand reaching to run his fingers over Corvo’s jaw. “You’re certain about this? This is what you want?”

There was so much hope in Daud’s voice, and Corvo felt his heart falter at the sound of it. “Yeah.” He pushed closer, hands curling round the back of Daud’s neck. “It might be a few years. Maybe longer. Emily needs to learn to protect herself, and we’ll need to give everyone time to figure out what they’ll do. But then–”

Daud’s mouth cut him off, pressing firmly against his. Corvo clung closer, fingers moving to dig into his shoulders. Then Daud nosed along his jaw, barely-there kisses nuzzled into his skin. “Then we’ll go.”

Corvo pressed his smile into Daud’s hair. “We’ll go.”

He felt the teeth of Daud’s answering smile against his neck. “Say that again.”

“We’ll go.” Corvo drew Daud back up for another kiss. And another, and another, and then he shifted back until he hit the pillow. Daud’s head came to lay on his shoulder, the man lounged over him and still pressing lazy kisses along Corvo’s collarbone.

When Emily’s courage had grown, when some years had passed and Corvo was confident that the young Empress no longer needed him, he and Daud would find a new life, together, far away from here. This way, he could keep his promise to them both.

They both began to shiver from the drafts the attic walls couldn’t protect them from, and Daud reached over the bed, draping Corvo’s discarded coat over them for warmth. From one of the coat’s pockets, Jessamine’s audiograph dug gently against Corvo’s hip, and its pressure there came as a strange comfort. He fell asleep replaying the Empress’ last words in his head.

_Stay goodhearted._

And Emily would. Corvo made one more promise, just for Jessamine.


	4. The Toast

“Not joining in on the celebration?” Sokolov sounded bitter, but Corvo had come to learn that was just his tone of voice. “I’ve noticed you aren’t too fond of crowds, but still. Taking refuge in a disused hound cage with a cranky old physician? What a strange young man you are.”

“Better a cranky old physician than more praise for my _good work_ ,” Corvo retorted, wandering idly around Sokolov’s enclosure. He was sick of all the attention. The privacy of the old cages was a welcome respite from it.

The Royal Physician, despite his grumblings that he held no love for the Lord Regent, was still kept locked away inside the cell. Corvo suspected they could trust him enough to let him roam the pub freely, but Havelock and Daud’s paranoia, masked as caution, absolutely forbade it.

Sokolov muttered irritably to himself while Corvo paced beyond the cage bars. “Could’ve at least brought me a drink.”

“There’s no brandy.”

“Hmph, typical. Your Admiral has poor taste, you know. Gristol beer,” Sokolov tutted. “Honestly. Beer is for trite stiffnecks.”

“And brandy’s for old choffers.”

“Watch it, Corvo. I may be old, but I won’t take any lip. I am the–”

“The Royal Physician, Head of the Academy of Natural Philosophy, and you demand respect. Yes, you’ve said it once or twice.” Corvo’s smirk softened his teasing, and he saw Sokolov’s lips quirk upwards from beneath his beard as well.

They had come to be friends of a sort, in the weeks since Sokolov had become their reluctant captive. The Physician shared his love of books, for a start, and he was grouchy and ill-tempered. Corvo would be lying to claim he hadn’t become fond of the older man.

“You would have done well at the Academy, Corvo. You have a sharp mind. Although...” Sokolov looked him over with a discerning eye. “That blunt tongue of yours would have gotten you into no end of trouble with the lecturers.”

Corvo snorted. “You sound like Rulfio.”

“Is Rulfio that retired Physician you mentioned?”

“No, Rulf taught me to fight. Chester’s the Physician, and philosopher. Taught me a lot of history and old texts.”

“Well, he certainly taught you well,” Sokolov remarked. He broke off with a huff, “And Pendleton still has the nerve to think your people all live in squalor, eating raw meat, and unable to read even the simplest books. Outsider’s eyes, you and I had an hour long discussion over Roseburrow’s theories the other week,” he barked. “Pendleton has a closed mind and a small imagination.”

Corvo hummed in agreement, reaching into the cage and snagging one of the Physician’s books. He thumbed through the pages, just for something to do with his hands.

“I’m surprised Daud didn’t have a hand in any of your teachings.”

“He did. Sometimes."

“A smart man, that one. Even as young as he was when I first met him. He had a natural affinity for the sciences back in the Academy.”

Corvo peered up from his book, sensing his chance. “What was he like when you knew him?”

“Hah! Stubborn, and hard-headed as they came. Though he seems to be less so these days,” Sokolov mused. “He didn’t stay for long, barely beyond the winter. But you don’t forget a man like Daud. He had a fierce curiosity to him. He was determined to take every segment of the unknown apart, and solve it like a puzzle. It was as though he couldn’t tolerate the mystery of it all.”

Corvo realised he was smiling. He swiftly covered it by shutting the book and sliding it back through the bars, into Sokolov’s awaiting hands. “Why’d he leave?”

“No one knew. He simply disappeared, and I never saw him again. Not until you abducted me and brought me here, that is.” The Physician discarded the book atop one of the many piles surrounding his cot. “But I always knew he was built for leadership of some kind or another, and... well,” Sokolov made a gesture in Corvo’s direction. “It seems my assumption was correct.”

Corvo tried to picture it. Daud, young, perhaps unscarred, scowling in one of the Academy’s lecture halls and baring his teeth at the mysteries of the world.

“Though I have to admit, the part about him taking in children surprised me,” Sokolov added gruffly. “Hard to imagine the man I knew caring for Void knows how many street urchins out of the goodness of his heart.”

“He’s good with children.”

Sokolov made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. “Then perhaps they should reconsider calling him the Nanny of Dunwall, instead.”

Corvo vowed to suggest the title to Daud at a later time. He glanced to the open door when distant sounds of celebration from the pub carried across the yard. It sounded unmistakably like Arden, probably singing with Quinn as the pair often did when they’d been drinking.

“You might as well join them.” Sokolov gave a dismissive wave with one of his hands. “Show your face. It is _your_  party, after all. And shut the blasted door when you go. That Whaler has the worst singing voice in Gristol.”

“It’s Emily’s party,” Corvo muttered. “Martin’s idea. They don’t need me there.” The thought of having to share pleasantries with Havelock had him grimacing slightly. “The Admiral and I aren’t on good terms.”

“Well, Lady Emily will want you there, at the very least. She’s obviously grown to care for you a great deal.” The Physician noticed Corvo’s sullen silence. “You think I like sharing drinks and small talk at gatherings with the high society? Bah! But I still square my shoulders and get it over with, and I’m twice your age. Man up.”

Corvo chewed on the inside of his cheek, and glared. “Fine. And I was going to let you out.”

“No you weren’t. I heard the berating you got from Daud when you last suggested doing so. I’m old, not deaf. And Corvo...” Corvo turned back once he reached the doorway, when the Physician called him back. “I know you’re young, and you might think you’re invincible. Believe me, I felt the same way when I was your age. But tread lightly with the Admiral,” Sokolov said, his tone all of a sudden grave. “I fear what men like Havelock may do if they’re pushed too far. So for caution’s sake, be careful. I’ve come to care for you a great deal, as well.”

Corvo felt his expression soften, and he nodded. He closed the door behind him as he stepped outside. Dusk had not long settled in, the steadily setting sun casting the courtyard in a golden lustre.

He didn’t hurry towards the pub, instead pacing idly in the direction of the bar, savouring the rare warmth of the evening against his skin. It wasn’t near to the heat of Karnaca or Cullero in the South, but if Corvo closed his eyes, he could imagine he was there. The sound of the river could have been the ocean’s waves rocking against the shores. The birds overhead could have been Serkonos’ native gulls, though the sounds of Dunwall’s crass sea birds were nothing alike.

Once Emily was grown, Corvo reminded himself as he shouldered open the pub’s main door. Once Emily had grown and she could protect herself, then he and Daud would see Serkonos again.

Corvo’s mood soured instantly once he faced the throng of people inside. The Loyalists, the Whalers, the servants, all cramped together in the small space, drinks in hand and music playing on an audiograph player sat on one of the tables.

The Whalers kept to themselves in one row of booths, separate from their allies. Corvo had been right about the singing. Arden was leaning over the table, drink hazardously clutched in one hand while he crooned out some rude Tyvian duet with Quinn. Corvo looked at Daud sympathetically; he was trapped in between the pair, shoulders hunched as the Whalers jostled him while they sang.

Emily was sat drawing opposite Callista in another booth. Corvo made a line straight there.

“Corvo!” Emily tugged him to sit beside her. He inspected her drawing. “It’s all of us! Look, that’s Wyman,” she pointed to the stick figure of Aeolos, with dark hair and very pale eyes. “And there’s Arden.” Another stick-like scribble, with a cigarette poking from the side of their mouth. “And that's you in the middle, right next to me.”

“Looks just like me.” It didn’t, but the figure had his messy hair, at least.

Emily beamed and grabbed a red crayon, starting to shade in Daud’s coat.

Callista caught Corvo’s eye across the table. “A common thing I’ve noticed,” the governess began wearily, “is that she always seems to be holding a weapon in these drawings of hers.”

True to Callista’s observation, Corvo saw Emily’s rendering with a blade gripped in one fist. She was holding stick-figure Corvo’s hand tightly in the other. “Maybe it’s a cane. I hear they’re all the range among the nobles.”

“No, it’s a sword,” Emily said helpfully, and Corvo tried not to recoil under Callista’s withering stare. “Daud says I’m getting quite good at blade work. Which means I must be getting _really, really_ good, because Quinn says he always plays down his praise.”

“I’ve given up trying to talk her out of sword lessons,” Callista said, folding her arms. “She’s far too stubborn to be convinced otherwise.”

Emily stuck her tongue out at her. Corvo had come to recognise the gesture as a good-humoured one. She did like Callista, even if she and the nursemaid butted heads sometimes.

They sat in companionable silence amidst the celebration, Emily drawing, Corvo joining her reluctantly whenever she rolled a crayon his way. Samuel came in through the back door after some minutes had passed, his hair mussed from the wind. Corvo assumed he had been working on the Amaranth, or perhaps talking with Piero in the workshop.

The boatman ambled directly over to their table.

“Samuel, you’ve been missing the party,” Emily rebuked, but there was a glint of mischief in her eyes. “To make it up to me, you must take me for a boat ride.” She was fond of the Amaranth. Corvo supposed that shouldn’t have come as a surprise; the riverboat had been Emily's escape from the Golden Cat and the Pendletons, after all.

Samuel smiled warmly. “I’d like to, your Ladyship, but maybe later.” Corvo frowned slightly when the boatman cast an edgy glance over his shoulder, towards where the Admiral and Pendleton were talking. He turned his gaze back to Emily’s drawing, “That’s some fine work you’ve done there.”

Emily grinned. “Wyman says I’m a shitty artist.”

“Emily!”

The Empress shot Callista a glare. “What? It’s not fair, Wyman curses all the time and you never yap at them!”

“That’s because Wyman isn’t a young Empress.” Callista eyed Arden dangerously from across the room. “I blame your friend there for the state of this girl’s mouth,” she told Corvo.

“Daud curses in front of me, too.”

The governess’ eyebrow twitched. “Does he, now.”

“A curse word or two won’t kill her.” Corvo promptly closed his mouth at the sight of Callista’s livid expression. He looked to Samuel for some moral support, but the boatman’s attention was on Havelock and the nobleman once again.

Corvo’s frown deepened. “Samuel?”

“Lady Emily,” the boatman said swiftly, “I’d love to see the rest of your drawings, if it isn’t too bold of me to be asking.”

Emily shot up eagerly from the booth to clamber over Corvo’s legs, and she took the boatman’s hand. “They’re in the tower, come on! I’ve done so many, they cover three of the walls!”

Samuel nodded. “Corvo, Callista, why don’t you come along as well–”

“Corvo!” A gloved hand came to rest on his shoulder, and Martin smiled down at him from where he'd come to stand at his side. “I was just about to go in search of you, I assumed you’d be hiding somewhere away from all the festivity. But it seems I was pleasantly mistaken.” Corvo noticed a bottle of Morley whisky in his hand, a pair of empty tumblers held precariously between two of his fingers. “I was going to ask you to join me for a drink, before we all inevitably go our separate ways.”

Corvo looked at the door longingly, craving the quiet that awaited in Emily’s tower. But he nodded Martin’s way, noting the Overseer’s hopeful expression. It was unlikely that they would see much more of one another now the conspiracy was close to it's end. Corvo found himself regretting that fact more than he’d expected.

“You three go on,” he told Samuel.

The boatman looked uncharacteristically prepared to argue, but Emily was tugging him and Callista onward, and Martin had already begun guiding Corvo away. The three of them left through the main door.

Martin took a seat at the more or less vacated bar. Lydia and Cecelia were further along, sharing some wine and giggling quietly. Corvo perched atop the counter, next to Martin’s stool.

“Morley whisky’s your favourite, if I’m not mistaken?” Martin asked. Corvo huffed a laugh at the same words the Overseer had spoken weeks ago, before the two of them had steadily begun to grow closer.

It had gotten to the point where Corvo could relax in the Overseer’s company. He watched the Whalers in their booths as Martin poured their drinks. Arden was now rosy faced, Feodor bleary eyed opposite him. Quinn was trying to challenge Daud to an arm wrestle. Their leader was shaking his head grimly, no doubt knowing he could break the young Whaler’s arm if he wasn’t careful.

"A toast, to our fine work here." A half filled whisky glass slid across to Corvo, Martin smiling at him knowingly. “You look like you need it. There’s quite a crowd in here.”

Corvo accepted it gratefully, and they clinked their glasses before drinking. Corvo threw it back it one gulp. Martin merely sipped his, and chuckled.

“And I was right, it seemed,” he remarked. “I know you detest the attention, but I’m glad you agreed to a little merriment before we all part ways. Lady Emily seemed to be enjoying herself.”

Corvo supposed suffering the party was worth it for that outcome alone. “What will you do when you go back to the Abbey?”

Martin hummed in thought. “Well, I have Campbell’s book now, his history of blackmail and bribery. I suppose I can use the information in the Abbey’s best interest. Expose all the corruption, and start reforming it from there,” he said. “It will certainly take some time, but... well, thanks to you I have somewhere to begin at the very least.”

“An Overseer thanking a heretic.”

“I know, it sounds ludicrous doesn't it. What an odd pair we make,” Martin agreed. “But I mean every word,” he added, granting Corvo one of those smiles that made his eyes crinkle in the corners. Then his gaze fixed on something over Corvo’s shoulder.

He gave a jaded sigh, “Pendleton’s beckoning me over. What am I, one of his Manor’s domesticated hounds?” Martin got smoothly to his feet. “I best not test His Lordship’s patience. Try and enjoy the party, Corvo, though I know that’s asking a lot. There’s more whisky under the bar, should you need it.” He subtly motioned with his head in its direction, before heading towards Pendleton, Wallace and the Admiral.

Corvo considered reaching for the bottle, before thinking better of it. Martin’s glass of whisky had already given him a headache, despite the relatively small measure. A dull pulse was throbbing beneath Corvo’s temples.

Corvo felt someone brush past his back, and Daud leaned beside him on the bar. The man had somehow managed to wriggle free from between Quinn and Arden.

Corvo smiled, and nudged his boot against Daud’s hip, urging him a little closer. He pulled him in for a kiss, surprising himself with his own boldness in front of so many people, but he found he suddenly didn’t care if anyone was watching. Outsider’s eyes, one throatful of whisky and the spirits had already gotten to his head.

He knew Daud himself hadn’t been drinking, even amongst the rest of the Whalers. He only ever drank in Rudshore, and even then, it was an extremely rare occasion. Beside the Fugue Feasts, Corvo had never seen him any further than tipsy before.

“Void, how much have you had?” Daud chuckled quietly against his lips, though he didn’t seem to mind the bout of spontaneous affection either.

“One,” Corvo confessed, and he flushed when Daud chuckled again.

The man pulled back to grant him a stern look. “This is what happens when you eat as little as you do.”

Corvo hummed, feeling his head swimming pleasantly. He grinned as Arden and Quinn began singing again. “Which verse are they on now?”

“Outsider knows,” Daud muttered, scowling over his shoulder at the rowdy Whalers. “This is what I get for allowing them all off watch. Cramp in my shoulders and an earache.”

“No one’s on watch?”

Daud grunted. “The troublemaker insisted I allow them all to join in the festivities. It’s been quiet in the District for days,” he added. “It won't hurt to let them relax for a few hours. And you accuse me of being paranoid.”

“You are paranoid.”

Daud’s elbow knocked him gently, but from the way Corvo tilted and slipped off the bar, he may as well have pushed him. Corvo staggered and caught himself on one of the stools.

He heard Daud circle the bar quickly, and felt the man’s hand lay steady on his arm. “You’ve had only one?"

Corvo blinked hazily, trying to focus on Daud’s face, before he felt his gaze drooping back towards the floor. “Yeah.”

Daud tilted Corvo’s chin up with one hand, frowning at his bleary expression. He had a talent of looking both fond and exasperated all at once. “Ten years of drinking with Arden, and you still can’t hold your whisky.”

Corvo tried to retort, but his tongue felt light and fuzzy.

“What’s up with ‘im?” Arden shouted across the room. Corvo saw him half turned in the booth to look at them, an arm slung over Feodor’s shoulders. “'ttano, you fuckin’ lightweight! ‘ow many you had?”

Corvo held up his middle finger, seeing as his mouth wasn’t cooperating. Quinn cackled, and Corvo felt Daud sigh with annoyance against him.

“For shame," Feodor chuckled.

"And he calls 'imself a whisky man," Arden banged his fist on the table in mock disappointment. "Lyin' bastard."

“Cocks,” Corvo managed to bite out, and he heard more laughter from the booths, though he couldn’t make out exactly which Whaler it was.

“This is why I stick to wine,” Pendleton remarked, sniffing complacently. Corvo just knew the nobleman was looking down his nose at him.

“I apologise, Corvo,” Martin’s guilty tone filtered to his ears over the Whalers’ teasing. “I forgot to mention, that whisky’s strong stuff. You may need some air.”

“Drinking with the Overseer, were you,” came Daud’s bitter grumble, but his hand tightened its strong support on Corvo’s arm. “You need to lie down.” He barked something out at the men, something about behaving themselves, but Corvo couldn’t make it out properly.

Daud led him out to the staircase. The dull ache in Corvo’s head eased slightly once they were no longer surrounded by music and chatter. He could focus on what Daud was saying, at least.

“You alright?”

Corvo swallowed. His throat was starting to feel uncomfortably tight. “Rest sounds good.”

“You need some sense knocked into you,” Daud muttered, but he moved Corvo’s arm around his shoulder, supporting him as they climbed the stairs. “Rulfio will have my head if he hears of you stumbling drunk to your death down a set of stairs. Come on, I don’t want Emily seeing you like this either. She’s as likely to have my head for it.”

Corvo didn’t stumble down the stairs to his death, but he did trip, twice, and his head had started to pulse again. By the time they reached the attic, he felt like he’d sprinted from one end of the city to the other. The veins under his skin were itching.

Corvo hadn’t realised how hard he was clutching onto Daud’s shirt until the man’s fingers closed around his to try and loosen his grip. “Corvo? Outsider’s eyes, you can’t have had just one, this is absurd–”

When they stepped into the bedroom, Corvo’s legs sunk from under him. Daud caught him around the waist before his knees hit the ground. Corvo doubled over, and the blood that had been pooling in his mouth spluttered from between his lips and onto the floorboards.

“Void, Corvo, what–” Corvo’s coughing cut across Daud’s sudden alarm, and he felt more blood trickling down his chin. He clutched at Daud’s sleeve, desperately trying to breathe around the acid rising in his throat.

Only when the sharp tang of more iron hit his tongue did he taste the poison, and only thanks to Chester’s lessons did he recognise that it was poison at all. The old Whaler had taught them all how to identify tonics, how to measure the right dosage for the right situation. When they were still young and stupid, Corvo remembered he and Quinn had tried to test themselves, taking a single drop each on their tongues. They had both been bedridden for a week, and Rulfio had had their balls for it ever since.

Corvo suspected that Martin had watched him swallow enough poison to kill him within an hour. Maybe two, if he was lucky.

“P-poison–” he choked out, tears staining his eyes from the tension in his lungs. It felt like there were shards of glass scraping his windpipe. “Martin, he- Daud, get the men aw-away-”

He could feel Daud’s panicked grip on him, the shuddering of his chest against Corvo’s shoulder as he spoke, but Corvo couldn’t make out what he was saying. Daud’s hands were desperately brushing his hair back from his eyes, touching his cheek, his throat, but Corvo’s awareness of it all faded second by second.

He heard the door to the attic open, the beat of steady footsteps approaching them, and the faint thrum of Overseer music, before Corvo’s vision failed him completely.

***

It was the ancient music that he heard first when he regained some semblance of consciousness. The drone it made was dim to his ears for a while, but the effect on his body was instant and unmistakable. Against common belief, it didn’t just weaken their magic, but their strength, their senses. If they were with it in too closer quarters, they were barely able to move at all.

Corvo should know. He’d been subject to the devices in Holger Square for seven long days, and he would never forget the helplessness that had seeped into his bones under the noise of the contraptions.

He tried to focus through his muddled senses, and he felt the cold, damp floorboards of the attic room beneath him. But Daud’s arms were no longer around him, and when Corvo managed to force his eyes to open, battling against the pain pounding against the inside of his skull, he saw why. Two Overseers had their gloved hands clamped down on either of Daud’s shoulders, keeping him trained on his knees.

Daud’s nose and fists were bloody, and the Overseers had dark red splatters over their masks and sleeves. Daud had tried to fight, even despite the ancient music. Corvo’s chest tightened in admiration at the thought.

Two more of the cultists stood at the attic’s exit points, music boxes held to their chests and the dials turning rhythmically in their hands. Corvo tried to push himself upright on one arm, before a boot clamped down over his wrist.

He glared up at Martin. “Fucking traitor–”

“Come now, let’s not be obtuse to one another,” Martin said, his tone even and collected, as though they were discussing something as mundane as some spilled tea. “I do apologise for this, Corvo. Although seeing as the Admiral wanted to leave you bleeding out somewhere, this is a far kinder outcome.”

It didn’t feel kinder. It felt like Corvo had daggers in his throat and a furnace heating his blood. Tyvian poison. Lethal, almost unrecognisable. Martin certainly wasn’t taking any chances with him.

“And we need your body intact, of course,” the Overseer continued. “I reminded Havelock of that much, and in the end he agreed that my way involved a lot less mess.”

Daud had started struggling the second he realised Corvo was awake, but the cultists had tightened their hold on him, and pushed him down firmly. Corvo tried to speak to him, implore him not to do anything too brave or too stupid, but his throat snagged painfully and he only ended up choking as he tried to breathe again.

And then he froze when he heard something smash downstairs. Glass. And the sound of metal meeting metal, swords perhaps, or wristbows. And then more dull, grinding drones of Overseer music began to drown out whatever kind of struggle was happening on the ground floor.

Fear gripped him, far colder and more urgent than the poison. “What–” Corvo tried to swallow, clear his throat so he could talk. “Downstairs, what ha-have you done.”

Martin circled around him. Like a shark, circling a stranded riverboat. “Wonderful discovery, the ancient music. I’d heard a fellow named Jindosh had crafted some refined versions of the music boxes in Serkonos. He was kind enough to have some shipped here for my men at Dunwall’s Abbey.”

Glancing around at the four cultists with them, Corvo didn’t want to imagine how many more Overseers had gotten into the pub, and were now working their contraptions to dull the Whalers’ magic, overpowering them. Corvo winced when he heard more glass break downstairs.

“Oh, there’s no need for you to worry about your people. The Admiral has promised to hand them into my care. We need to know how your black magic works, after all, and how to prevent it. They’ll be taken to the Abbey alive and unharmed, for the time being. For the purpose of a little experimentation.”

“You’ll get nothing,” Daud snarled, trying to shuck the cultists’ hands off him. They just shoved him down again.

“On the contrary,” Martin began, making his way to stand in front of him. He took a fistful of Daud’s hair and swung his knuckles into his face. Corvo heard Daud’s nose crack. Martin gave his hand a little twist to shake off the pain of the blow, turning back towards Corvo. “If you try anything clever, I’ll have you watch while your men are killed one by one. So I’d exercise a little conduct if I were you, Daud. I’m showing your people a great deal of clemency, after all. Let’s not have more than one dead Whaler on our hands, mm?”

Martin crouched down at Corvo’s side, peering at him. “You on the other hand, Corvo, I’m afraid are quite pivotal to the Admiral’s story.” He settled two fingers beneath Corvo’s jaw, angling his gaze up. “The savage assassin, responsible for slaughtering our beloved Morgan and Custis Pendleton, and the disappearance of dear Waverly Boyle. Havelock will certainly be the people’s hero, when he announces that he’s put down Dunwall’s uncontrollable masked felon. It will be his first act as Lord Regent.”

“The whole time–” Corvo coughed as more blood began to rise in his mouth. “You planned this all th-this time.”

“I needed you to trust me. Don’t blame yourself for not seeing this coming, Corvo, I’ve become rather accustomed to lying over the years. It’s more first nature than second to me now.” Martin’s tone would have perhaps passed for remorseful, if not for the lacking emotion behind his eyes. “You didn’t make it easy for me, you know. Your stubborn distrust was quite the formidable obstacle in the beginning. But our little misunderstanding at the beach worked to my advantage. I was relieved. I thought perhaps I’d laid my naivety on too strongly. I feared you’d seen through it more than once.”

Corvo spat blood in the Overseer’s face, and snarled. “You knew-”

“About you and Daud?” Martin calmly withdrew a handkerchief from his robes, and wiped his cheek clean. “Of course. From the moment I saw you both, it was quite obvious,” he said, looking between the two of them. “My original plan was to sway you away from him, to earn your trust a little more... intimately, I suppose. You’re young, after all, clearly inexperienced. And sex is a wonderfully persuasive means of getting what you want.”

Daud thrashed in the Overseers’ grip, but Martin just aimed a thin smile in his direction before focusing back on Corvo’s face.

“Of course, anything like that between two men is considered... unsavoury. We aren’t Tyvia or Serkonos, after all. But for the greater good, I deemed such a thing necessary. And then I soon saw that, for some unfathomable reason, your loyalty to Daud went too deep to be tampered with. I had to improvise, and quickly.”

Corvo recalled the beach, Martin’s kiss, his floundering apologies and the seemingly genuine shock in his eyes as Corvo admitted where he and Daud stood. Asking him if they could be friends, despite their positions. All lies. Martin had lied about it all, just to gain Corvo’s trust. Just to get to this moment without Corvo suspecting him. And Corvo had asked Daud to trust his judgement.

He would have laughed at his own stupidity, if he could have.

“A lying tongue is a necessary evil sometimes,” Martin continued, grimacing slightly. “Even for an Overseer.”

“Fuck you.” Corvo’s voice was straining more with each attempt to speak. It was becoming harder to ignore the heaviness of his eyelids again. “Was a-anything you said to me t-true.”

Martin looked at him, almost sadly. “I really did like you, Corvo,” he said, far too quietly for his men to overhear. He reached a hand out towards him, and Daud snarled from the side.

“Don’t fucking touch him–”

“Shut him up.”

One of the Overseer’s struck Daud’s jaw with the butt of their pistol, sending him jerking to the side before the cultist’s drew him up to his knees again.

Martin’s hand tightened underneath Corvo’s chin, forcing his gaze away from Daud and back onto him. The Overseer tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. Corvo tried to flinch away from him, but couldn’t. He was starting to lose feeling in his chest, and his hands. And his legs.

“I really did like you. But you and your people are heretics first and foremost,” Martin continued. “A plague, not dissimilar from the rats. This was always the outcome that had to be reached. Your kind needs to be purged if we’re going to reform Dunwall for the better. The Admiral, even Pendleton, understands that much.”

Corvo felt his consciousness slipping fast, and his head dropped out from under his control. He heard Daud calling for him, saw him trying to reach him, asking him, pleading with him to keep his eyes open. And Corvo tried to speak, even just to say Daud’s name, but everything had blurred to mere shapes and cloudy colours.

“I take no pleasure from this, Corvo. I hope you understand that,” Martin said, and his words sounded so far away, like an echo at the other end of a long, dark tunnel. “We couldn’t have gotten here without you. I can only pray the Stars take pity on you, wherever death takes your kind from here.”

A second time, Corvo had no choice but to give in to the poison’s insistent pull on him.

***

When he woke again, if it could be called waking at all, Corvo’s eyes felt glued shut. And he swore his entire body was spinning. There was no pain now, just numbness spreading through him, as though he were in a dream. There was little for him to see besides the darkness, but the muddled voices around him, the dim light filtering in behind his eyelids, told him he was still in the attic.

And there were still cultists in the room. The ancient music was still palpable around him.

 _“Your men have done well, Martin.”_ The Admiral’s voice. Havelock sounded stoic as always, but Corvo could hear a note of self-satisfaction underlying his tone. _“They’ve rounded up Daud’s people and taken them to the old hound cages. With the music boxes, they weren’t much trouble.”_

 _“Though your Overseers were cutting it fine there with their timing.”_ Pendleton. Corvo would know that whiny tone anywhere in the Isles. He’d trained himself to recognise it, for avoidance’s sake. _“What would have happened if the assassins had seen them coming in through the barricades? This so called plan of yours was reckless! It could have undone all our planning, all our hard work.”_

 _“My planning. My hard work.”_ Martin. Fucking snake.

Corvo tried to move, even just crack open his eyes again like the last time, but the poison had soaked so fully into muscles that they were slack. He was amazed he was even still alive. He could scarcely feel himself breathing anymore.

 _“And aren’t there more assassins out there somewhere? What if they come here, and find out we have the rest of them captured?”_ Pendleton continued, voice pitching higher and higher in his unease. _“They’ll kill us! Did you consider that, Martin? I doubt you have the means to protect us from– from– from Outsider knows how many of them there are!”_

 _“We’ve captured the thirteen men who were stationed here, there’s no one left to send word to warn the others,”_ Martin assured, before he paused. _“Well, there are twelve of them now, I suppose. Corvo’s dead, if not still dying. I’m sure it won’t be too long now.”_

It was only then that Corvo felt familiar arms fastened around him, strong and holding him safe. Although surrounded by these people, these traitors, he didn’t feel safe. The chest he was cradled against wracked with a constricted snarl in response to the Overseer’s words.

Daud. Either he’d fought his way to him, or he had been allowed by Martin to reach him.

Corvo had to move, squeeze Daud’s hand, or even just say something, anything to let the man know he was still here. Here for how much longer was another matter, but Corvo didn’t care about that yet, not when Daud’s fingers carded through his hair, and a choked, agonised moan broke free from his throat and jolted them both.

 _“Come back to me._ _Don’t do this to me again, damn you, don’t you dare."_ Daud's voice was thick, and rough against his ear. _"Don't you dare. Not like this.”_

Corvo needed to speak, to move, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even open his eyes. Void, he must have looked dead.

 _“Anyway, by the time any of the other heretics realise something's amiss, we’ll be long gone from here. So stop fretting, Trevor, it’s unbecoming of a man of your standing,”_ Martin continued. _“You’re head of your household now, and our first line of support in Parliament. We need you focused, not prattling on about your misgivings.”_

 _“Yes, yes, you don’t need to keep reminding me,”_ Pendleton snapped. There was a lull, and then the nobleman spoke again. His voice had moved from one side of Corvo to the other. _“Are we sure their magic is... contained? The music is quite safe?”_

 _“They’re outnumbered, Trevor, and they know it,”_ Havelock answered. _“And Corvo is taken care of. The poison was a clever way to go, Martin, I have to admit. I didn’t think it would work.”_

 _“Your confidence in me is touching as ever, Admiral,”_ Martin said dryly. _“We need to get him to the spot Samuel pointed us to. His body must be kept hidden and safe until the time is right to announce that the masked felon has been taken care of.”_

Corvo felt his heart lurch behind his ribcage. Not Samuel. Not him, too. Corvo should have predicted Martin, but the boatman... Surely Samuel hadn’t known about any of this.

 _“Speaking of old Samuel,”_ Pendleton began, _“where did he lumber off to? We can’t leave any witnesses just wandering about.”_

 _“He disappeared with Lady Emily and her governess, I saw them head to the tower earlier. Something about seeing her drawings. I sent one of my men to retrieve them,”_ Martin said dismissively. _“Now all that’s left to do is get Corvo to the raft, and then to the drop off point. You’ll see to the body, won’t you, Wallace?”_

_“Yes, Sir.”_

_“Good man. And remember, we need him. If we come forth with the man who abducted Emily and murdered the Lord Regent’s allies, we’ll be greeted as heroes.”_

Corvo heard footsteps– Wallace’s footsteps approaching warily, before a snarl rumbled menacingly from Daud, and his hold became bruisingly tight around him.

 _“Don’t try anything, Daud,”_ Havelock warned him. _“You helped us get this far, so we’re showing mercy to the rest of your men. Don’t do something you’ll regret.”_

 _"Mercy,”_ Daud hissed, but said nothing more. Corvo could feel him shaking in his anger.

 _“While Wallace is gone, Martin, put the rest of your Overseers on guard in the cages. I want all of them watching Daud’s people,”_ Havelock instructed. _“We can keep Sokolov and Piero in the workshop until you arrange for transport to the Abbey. Just keep the music boxes running. Under no circumstances is that music to stop playing, not even for a second,”_ he said. _“They’re savages. Bastard almost broke my neck.”_

So Daud had put up a fight to get to him. Corvo felt a sick kind of satisfaction at the thought of the Admiral’s bruises, his blood on Daud’s fist.

And then Wallace’s hands were on Corvo, tearing him away. _No, no, no,_ Corvo tried to protest, but all he could do was repeat the word in his head.

 _“Put Daud with the rest of his men, and don’t take your eyes off them,”_ Havelock ordered Martin’s Overseers, speaking to them over the ongoing drone of the ancient music. _“Once they’re in your care, Martin, you can do whatever you will with them,”_ he said. _“But while they’re here under my supervision, I’m not taking any chances.”_

Corvo could hear Daud struggling to get him back, cursing at the Overseers, at Martin, at Havelock. He couldn’t see, but he could hear the man fighting, even though Corvo knew it was hopeless under the music and the eyes of so many cultists.

The sounds of the scuffle became fainter and fainter, as Corvo was carried downstairs and then outside. The fading daylight seared through his eyelids, stinging his pupils. He could hear Wallace’s boots crunching in the sand as they reached the beach, and the manservant began muttering under his breath.

_“The things I do for my Lord. Of course, we couldn’t have just had you killed at the raft, no, no. Make this harder for me, making an example of you in front of Daud, then having me drag you all the way out here. Honestly.”_

Wallace let his limp form fall carelessly onto the sand. The impact jerked Corvo’s head harshly, but the abrupt pain of it shook his body into motion, if only a little bit. Corvo managed to open his eyes, the edges of his vision burning from the poison’s effects. He could just make out Wallace’s silhouette at the river’s edge, readying a small raft.

“Good riddance to you, I say. Always rude to my Lord.” The manservant continued griping to himself, as he untied the rope that tethered the raft to a small boulder in the river’s shallows. “I know it was you stealing his good wine. Should have shot you myself.”

The final thing Corvo saw before darkness took him a third, and perhaps final time, was Samuel. The boatman took one of the oars from the raft, and knocked Wallace down onto the sand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read, left kudos and commented so far!
> 
> I'm starting my third year of University very soon, so I'm afraid I won't have time to write the next part for a while. I just wanted to say that I'm certainly not abandoning the fic, I just have to focus on work for now <3


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